


Goretober 2019

by Werewolfnightwalker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Animal Attack, Animal Death, Attempted Suicide, Blood, Burning alive, Cutting, Demons, Disassociation, Drowning, Drug Use, Drugs, Drugs Mentioned, Dying thoughts, Eaten alive, Eldritch Gods - Freeform, Emotional Abuse, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Freezing to death, Gaslighting, Gore, Goretober, Goretober 2019, Grief, Halloween, Hanging, Happy Ending, Horror Terrors, I know nothing about drugs, Inner Demons, Insane Ramblings, Insects, Jellyfish, Knives, Mental Abuse, Multi, Mutilation, NOT vore, Needles, Nightmares, PTSD, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Pneumonia, Poisons, Primordial Beings, Sadstuck, Scars, Sharks, Sickness, Slavery, Slow Death, Strife - Freeform, Suicide, Tags Subject to Change, Torn Apart, Torture, Whipping, Whips, Wolves, all hallows eve, breaking bones, could this be considered canibalism? He's a wolf after all, daddy issues? I mean daddy kinda fucked up a lot of people, false reality, fantroll goretober, gross eyes, guilt trips from ghosts, insects in flesh, loss of a loved one, painful memories, roleplaying to cope, sad lyrics, should have probably added those earlier, space gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 31,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20849198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werewolfnightwalker/pseuds/Werewolfnightwalker
Summary: My goretober works for October, 2019, featuring my fantrolls. Going to contain some bloody, possibly fucked up stuff, tags will be updated for each story.





	1. Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Feat. Musrio

Musrio was splayed out on his floor, the rustblooded necromancer staring up at the ceiling of his room. Around him were several different vials, bottles, and jars. Most of them were empty, though a few of them contained various liquids. The bottle clutched in his hand contained a thick, sludgy black liquid that bubbled when he twitched. It smelled atrocious, like a burning sulfur pit filled with dead skunks, but he raised it to his lips and drank anyway.

He swallowed, coughed, and closed his eyes. At least he was still breathing, for the moment. Instead of taking drugs, or committing vandalism, or going out to the club to deal with his issues, Musrio preferred staying home and ingesting various poisons of his own making. He was mostly immune to most toxins, so he usually only got a pleasant buzz or sleepy, loopy sensation from this practice.

However, this one was a new concoction. He'd thrown together a mixture of death caps, destroying angels, ivory funnels, and various other, deadly mushrooms and fungi. He'd also added a personal favorite; the toxic oil from his lusii's skin. Having 200 poison dart frogs at his beck and call was certainly a pleasantry as far as he was concerned, for their usually deadly secretion gave him a wonderful fuzzy feeling. He'd added several tablespoons of it to the mushrooms. Coupled with a dash of ricin, VX, cyanide, strychnine, and concentrated mercury, he'd made what was likely his most powerful poison yet. He'd saved a portion of it- he might need it later, whether for further pleasure or to show to the medical staff at the nearest hospital- and was currently attempting to down the rest.

While immune to the harmful, fatal parts of the poisons, that didn't mean he wasn't affected by the side effects; he could no longer feel his legs, and his vision was foggy. Still, his mind was quiet for once, and he felt content, like he was laying in a warm bath. As he raised the jar again, he noticed a scratch on his forearm, just below his wrist. He paused, blinking at it. When did that get there, he wondered; he hadn't hurt himself when brewing, had he? The scars from his last ritual had faded already, so it couldn't be one of those.

Pleasantly amused, he reached up to touch the mark, only for it to turn bright red and contort. Was he growing lesions from the poison, he thought with mild alarm. He watched as it bulged and shifted, like there was something under his skin. Annoyed now, he poked it, only for the scar to split apart. He gasped as a white ball appeared in the scar, spinning rapidly, only to settle slowly and rotate to show him; it was an eye, with a bright orange iris and a slit pupil. He felt the skin on his wrist pull as it blinked, his own rust-colored blood bubbling around it and spilling down his arm. Like tears he thought. He stared at the eye for a moment, before he once again reached up to poke it, only to notice another scar, on the back of his hand.

This one opened, too, and revealed a bright blue eye. At first, he'd been amused- a little puzzled, certainly, but still amused; most of his nervous system was numb by now, shutting down his more extreme sensations- but now he was a little alarmed. He heaved himself into a sitting position and pulled back the sleeves of his robes.

All up and down his arms were small scars and slits that twitched and moved, before bursting open with a brief spray of blood, only to reveal an eyeball sitting in the socket. His skin itched and pinched as each one opened. Blue, green, red, purple- every color he could think of stared at him. A little panicked, he fumbled to get his robe off, and managed to pull it down so he could see his upper torso.

More scars, more eyes, his blood staining his robe. His shoulders, chest, even his stomach- dozens of eyes burst into being. He could feel them open on his back, too. The itching, pinching feeling had grown stronger, until he suddenly felt like he'd been stabbed. He cried out, twisting to watch a large, yellow eye burst open on his rib cage. He yelled as another, and another and another opened.

"Stop! Stop it!" He shouted, swatting at the eyes. This wasn't funny, it wasn't amusing, it _hurt_ and he was _afraid_. "Stop, please!"

Desperately, he scratched at one of the eyes on his hand. He pinched it between his claws and sucked in a deep breath. Gritting his teeth, he ripped it out.

He screamed in pain, flinging the eye away. Clutching his hand, which now had a gaping, bleeding hole in the palm, he curled up and sobbed as he felt more and more eyes open. A burning sensation on his throat sent him scrabbling for his neck. He felt a slit, the biggest one yet, across the front of his throat. It hurt to swallow, and he suddenly couldn't breathe as he clawed at it. He felt like he was going to vomit.

He couldn't even scream as the eye split open. It was huge, the size of a lemon, the iris so dark one couldn't even see the pupil. He choked, clawing at it, but the eye didn't move. His head was going fuzzy again, though this time from lack of air. He fell back on his back, and felt several of the eyes under him burst like grapes as he hit the floor. Choking and crying, he twitched and struggled before he blacked out.

...

He woke several hours later, sitting up with a gasp. His head pounded and he groaned, rubbing his temple, when the memories flooded back. He leaped to his feet, ripping open his robes, but his flesh was clean. No eyes, other than the two that were already in his head. He pat himself over just to make sure, but his skin was smooth.

Relieved, he went to rub his head again, when he noticed something that made his blood turn cold; there was a gaping, pocket-like wound in his palm.


	2. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feat. Innocent

Ba-Boom.

Ba-Boom.

Ba-Boom.

The drums pounded like a heartbeat, the screams of the subjuggalos like rushing fear that raced through Innocent's veins. His wrists and ankles, clasped in shackles, jangled as he was pushed and pulled along. A metal collar around his throat attached him to another by a chain rope. Clenched in their fist, they were none to gentle as they yanked him forward, making him stumble. The smoke from the torches along his path burned his eyes and dried his throat, his mouth gagged so he could not swallow, let alone speak.

His clothes were torn, his weapons taken, he was forced to march towards a stage. For his crime of existence, he must pay. He was dragged up the steps and onto the platform, where he was shoved to his knees in front of his oldest enemy. He raised his head and looked up at Hounding, who stood before him proudly, his precious axe strapped to his back. His red eye gleamed with malice, his teeth bared in delight. Innocent could barely breathe; he reeked of fear, but he kept his face blank.

Hounding dropped to one knee in front of him, and whispered in his ear, his voice so low his words were only caught by the limeblood. Innocent's heart seemed to stop and he went cold at the monster's words. Regret and anger bubbled in his chest, but he said nothing. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. He felt Hounding touch his cheek; he traced the three scars that he, Hounding, had put there on their first meeting. The monstrous troll chuckled and stood up. Innocent was heaved to his feet and pushed to the front of the stage.

In front of him was a giant tank, big enough for four men to stand in comfortably. It was filled to the brim with water, the lid open and waiting. The shackles on his ankles were removed, only to be replaced with another pair. These ones, however, each had concrete blocks tied to the end.

An announcer next to him read out his crimes, of which there was only one: existing. But that was enough. For his unforgivable offense, he was to be drowned like a rat, or the Salem witches of old. For his unjust act against the Empress and the gods, he would become entertainment; they were going to watch him struggle and die. He could see several of the on-lookers placing bets in the crowd. For his trespass against nature and the way of life, he was to become a lesson, a warning, to all those who dared defy the Empire and its order.

The announcer droned on, his voice fading in Innocent's ears as he looked up. Through the smoke and firelight, he could see the stars. A sense of calm filled him, as it had always done when he stared at those flecks of light. But now he felt that they finally stared back, watching him as he stood upon that stage. He closed his eyes. Wherever my morails meet their end, let it be swift and painless, he begged. He felt a shove on his shoulder and he jerked back to the present.

The gag was ripped from his mouth and they asked him, did he have any final words?

They wanted him to apologize, he thought. Wanted him to beg and scream and plead for his life. He took a deep breath, and delivered the words that had sat on his soul for so long. He let them out, spilling like the water he was to die in. He ended it with a warning, and a threat.

The crowd had fallen silent, the air thick with tension, before Hounding snarled and swat him across the face, bellowing at him for his impudence. And just like that, the crowd was back, demanding he die. There were suddenly hands on him, shoving him forward, until he was at the edge of the tank. He was picked up by a pair of highbloods, and dropped in.

The weights on his ankles pulled him down, until he heard them hit the bottom. The surface was mere inches above his head, taunting him. His last breath burned in his lungs; he knew it was futile, but still. He watched them close the lid of the tank and screw it shut; no escaping.

His chest was on fire, begging for more air, but there was none for him to give. Squinting through the water and glass, he saw the faces of his oppressors, watching him. In front of them all, Hounding.

He closed his eyes. It was quiet in the water, the glass was thick and drowned out the noise. He let his breath bubble out from his lips, and sucked in a gulp of water. No use struggling and delaying his fate. He instinctively tried to cough, but he fought the urge. If they wanted a show, he wasn't going to give them that.

He sucked in more water.

His vision was going dark; he hurt all over. He thought it would. It was always going to hurt. He was dizzy now, his legs kicking feebly. Behind his closed eyes, he saw the faces of his morails. They smiled at him. He saw their lips move, and they offered him their hands. Come with us, they were saying, but their voices didn't reach him. He wanted to go. He was ready. But his body was still clinging to life.

He drank more water, and he shuddered. A new calm filled him; it was thick, almost heavy. He was drowning in it, he thought with some humor. He wasn't scared. Not anymore. Yes, his morails said, yes, don't be scared. Come with us, you're almost there.

Time had stopped. Space was unimportant. His morails were gone, and he was alone. There was nothing. Just him, and darkness. He must have blacked out, he thought, which meant... yes. He saw the light at the end of the tunnel. He glanced behind him, but there was nothing.

And just like every time before, like he'd done his whole life, he took off running.

is body was left behind, but he was free. Up ahead, he could hear them laughing.


	3. Drugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feat. Decaying.

A young oliveblood wandered the quiet streets, just trying to get home before sunrise. It was drizzling steadily, so he had his hoodie pulled up and his hands tucked in his pockets. The streets were empty, most trolls trying to stay out of the wet. As he passed an alleyway, he thought he heard a sound; it was like a hissing, whispering noise. He paused and glanced down the alley, expecting to see a rodent or a homeless troll. A large pair of eyes stared back at him, without blinking. Slightly unnerved, he hurried on.

A scuttling, splashing sound behind him made him whirl back around. A shadow darted between the buildings, and he heard a hiss. What the hell, he thought. He quickened his pace.

The whispering followed him as he walked, then jogged. He heard a clatter to his left, then a thump to the right. Something's following me, he thought.As he neared the end of the street, he heard whatever it was give chase. Without looking back, he broke into a sprint. He heard shouting, then something grabbed his shoulders. Terrified, the oliveblood screamed, kicking out blindly, before a hand clasped over his mouth.

"Shush shush shush!" A voice, a man's voice, hissed urgently, "They'll hear you!" Trembling, the oliveblood stopped struggling. Whoever held him was panting, their breath warm on his hair. "They're watching us. No sudden moves." The man hissed.

"Who?" The olive mumbled into his hand. He was shushed again. He tried to glance around, but couldn't see much through the rain. He didn't sense anyone, though. More annoyed than scared now, he squirmed out of their grasp and whirled to look; it was a rustblood, with a missing horn and white hair. His pupils were blown wide, like a cat's. "Who's watching us?" He demanded. The rustblood glanced around.

"_Them_. Don't let them hear your thoughts, okay? They know we know that they know what we know. Watch for the dragon's gun and the green ice. They're puzzles pieces, too. Connected, all of them, each of them, they don't know it yet but they will. It's all there, all of it, just gotta string it together, until it ties behind the boy with demons in his blood and gods in his brain. They can't stay behind the line forever though, the paint has to spill the blood's gotta be sipped at. Follow the lines." The rust rambled, urgently. The oliveblood stepped back, slightly fearing for his life.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He huffed. The rust grabbed his shoulder, shaking it slightly.

"No! Listen, listen, don't understand! The emperor! He hides and he waits and he laughs. A leviathan in a mouse hole, ready to break out. A woman imprisoned for the crime of dying, and a wolf that has no claws, but a thousand fangs. Watch the skies, and watch the graves, for when the axe goes 'chop', the whole world stops." The rust hissed, his pupils so large the red of his eyes were only slivers. The olive blood shoved the hand off his shoulder, backing away.

"Okay, dude, I don't know what your deal is, but you're freaking me out. Are you on drugs or some shit?"

"Yes, yes! I am!" The rust nodded, pleased, "My mind is rotten and much too loud, the maggots scream at my nerves. The drugs, they keep the maggots happy. The maggots chew on my brain, just as the infantile gods that ooze from the slime nibble on the decaying rot of space. Decaying, Decaying, that's what they call me, call my name, but I am not rotten. My mind is crumbled, but I know. I know what is going to happen, I know what is happening, I know what happened. Like too much sugar, it made my brain go away. Now it's back, full of maggots and secrets and angry whispers. Bam, crunch, it went first when I died."

The oliveblood swallowed, laughing nervously, and stepped back further.

"Oookay. Uh, I gotta go. Good luck with your... um, maggots." He said, giving him an uncertain smile. The rustblood shut his mouth and clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose. Taking the chance, the oliveblood backed up further, before turning and running. Behind him, he heard the rustblood scream.


	4. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Makeno

A young Makeno, no older than five an a half solar sweeps of age, threw himself off a cliff.

The wind whistled past his earfins and he curled up, gripping his legs as he hit the water.

He sunk like a stone, bubbles pouring past him as his gills flapped, sucking in water so he could breathe. He opened his eyes and blinked, looking around.

Along his arms, legs, chest, shoulders, and cheeks, pale freckles began to glow the same violet shade as his blood. He hovered in the water for a moment, before he began swimming further out to sea, unaware of something approaching him from behind at an incredible speed.

He sensed it at the last second and spun, bubbles erupting from his mouth as he shouted in surprise. His lusus barreled into him, nosing at his stomach and wiggling happily. He laughed, stroking her snout; his lusus was a mako shark, with an extra set of each of her fins. She was nearly blind, but she'd recognize her charge anywhere. Makeno called her Makomom.

She turned and sped away, then came back. Sensing she wanted to play, Makeno grabbed her tail and hung on. Delighted, she sped through the water. He clung on for dear life, but as she turned sharply to the right, his fingers slipped and he was sent spinning into the water.

He rightened himself, laughing, and waited for her to come back. While he did so, he looked up to watch the sunlight filter through the water. He closed his eyes and sighed happily. No matter his troubles on the surface, the sea would always be there for him. It was quiet, still, beautiful and safe.

His eyes suddenly opened as a blinding, burning pain seared through his left shoulder, like someone had pressed a hot skillet to his bare skin. He screamed and thrashed, kicking away. Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain down his arm until he was sobbing. Turning, he saw a _box jellyfish_ bobbing next to him.

Ice cold fear shuddered through him, momentarily relief to the burning pain. Boxes were deadly, their poison killed in minutes. Panicked, he tried to swim for the surface, but each movement was unbearable, his vision going white. Along his left shoulder, bright and angry, blistering scars seared into his skin. They'd be permanent, he thought, if he survived.

As he struggled, he saw his lusus reappear through the water, her jaw working in a show of concern. Desperately, he grasped her dorsal fin.

"Get me to shore, please!" He gasped, his tears turning into a violet haze around his eyes. She didn't need to be told twice. She sped through the water and he clung on, his teeth grit in pain.

How long did he have? Three minutes? Two? Less? His whole left side was numb, bursts of burning pain at every twitch. His muscles were spasming; they were dying, he thought, his nerves were breaking apart.

His lusus got as close to the shore as she could without beaching herself. Desperately, his head throbbing, he stumbled through the shallows and onto the sand. Nearly blind, his shoulder burning, he tried to call for help, but all that came out was a croak.

He shuddered and tripped over himself, falling face first into the sand. He groaned weakly, whimpering as his vision went black.


	5. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Musrio

"Damnit!" Musrio threw the ancient book across the lab. He growled, drumming his fingers on the table in front of him.

The rustblood stood in his hive's laboratory, where he preformed his experiments with tricky spells and new potions. Shelves of ancient spell books, written in strange, archaic languages, lined the walls. Boxes, bottles, vials and jars were locked behind glass doors, full of ingredients and assorted magical knickknacks. The room was lit by dim lanterns along the walls.

In the corner where Musrio stood, a large table was littered with scrolls, tomes, books, ink bottles and quills. A plush chair sat next to it. He stood hunched over the table, stewing on what to do next. He'd been practicing that spell for days, and he was missing something. He had to be.

With a dejected sigh, he walked over and picked up the book. Had he translated it wrong? He walked back over to the table and collapsed in the seat, rereading the page.

It was written in a bizarre language, but he seemed to have some sort of grasp of it, his eyes scanning it slowly. There was the spell, what the spell did, the pronunciation, possible side effects, precautions, pros and cons, possible uses, and so on. Around the writings were drawings of star maps and scribbled notes.

He muttered the spell under his breath, waving his hand dismissively. There was a loud BANG, making him leap to his feet. He looked around, and noticed a smoldering mark on the wall. He glanced at his hand, which was smoking.

Right, that worked, whatever I did, he thought. He set the book down and repeated the spell, waving his hand like he'd done before. Again, a blast erupted from his hand and hit the wall in a burst of fiery sparks.

He raised an eyebrow. It wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for, but he could work with this. He turned to look at the book again, enunciating the spell in a stronger, commanding voice.

The blast was bigger this time, so he shouted it. Again, it was bigger. Excited now, he flipped the page to look at the next one, before he faltered. His hand was still hot. Looking down, he saw the skin on his palm blistering.

Alarmed, he glanced at the 'precausions' list:

_Overuse of this spell without protective gear can cause skin to blister, burn, or otherwise be harmed. Effect may spread and consume the entire body, if not stopped. No known cure if this transpires._

"Fucking great." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced at his hand. The mark wasn't spreading, fortunately. He closed the book and headed back upstairs to run it under cold water and bandage it.

This completed, he fed his lusii before checking the time. It was well into the morning; aka, late. Bedtime, he thought, already feeling drained from his practice.

He went to his room, stripped, and climbed into his coon. His dreams were restless. Not unusual, they often were, but he couldn't get comfortable.

He sat up with a gasp, his whole body burning and itching, all of it stemming from his hand. Scared of what this meant, he ripped the bandages off and squinted in the dim light of his coon.

He couldn't see much, but his hand didn't look too good. He dipped it in the sopor, hoping the colorful slime would alleviate some of the pain, but it only made it worse. He jerked it back out with a whimper.

Before he could decide what to do, the uncomfortable heat of his skin suddenly cranked up to unbearable. He cried out, but it was strangled, cut short into a croak, as he felt himself burn up from the inside. Desperately, he fumbled for the latch to the lid of his coon, but even brushing the rubber sent fire down his nerves.

Panicked, he clawed at the latch, but couldn't find it in his blind scrabbling. His body suddenly seized up and he choked, the heat too much.

He could only utter a whimper as the magic consumed him in a ball of flames. His skin cooked like over-grilled beef, his brain fried and his blood dried. He collapsed into the slime, writhing.

And just like that, it stopped. The magic dissipated, leaving the rustblood as nothing but a burned husk.


	6. Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Incoding

Pain. All night, self induced pain as he worked himself to the edge of death and back. The wires that pierced his skin sucked out his psionics like a kitten at their mother's teat.

Nightmares. All day, as his body was rehealed by the slime he slept in, his mind was left damaged and fritzing, dreams crackling like the energy that flowed through him.

Even when he was given rest, he heard the overseer's whips cracking, could hear them shouting; wether it was the conjurations of his own mind, or the echos that bled through the thin walls, he didn't know.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the scars on his back burning as he curled up, trying to get rest and reprieve while he could.

In his dreams, he saw himself; a free man, wandering the streets of a city he'd never seen. He could feel the breeze on his face, hear birds troll overhead, heard _laughter, _from wrigglers that chased each other through the streets.

His heart was light, his mind quiet, as he watched trolls come out of their hives and buildings, going about their daily lives. The hopeful atmosphere was dashed as he saw them, though.

While the trolls appeared normal at first, their faces contorted as they got closer. Their friendly faces became twisted, dark, and demonic. Incoding backed away uncertainly, as the gentle breeze became a harsh gust.

Within the wind, he heard their whispers, and their thoughts. They hate you, it told him, they want you dead. They think of you as nothing more than a tool. You are just a battery for the empire to use up, and cast away.

They're coming for you, it told him next. Behind him, he heard the thundering of footsteps. He whirled around, his eyes wide, and saw the silhouettes of the overseers bearing down on him.

Terror burst into his veins, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he turned and ran. He heard them screeching, bellowing for his blood, their footsteps booming and making the ground shake.

He saw their fingers, clawing, grasping, gnarled and sharp, reach past him. He screamed as they grabbed him, their voices dark and evil as they cackled, dragging him backwards. He clawed at the air, the ground, anything, before he felt the burning cold of shackles around his wrists, ankles and throat.

He struggled, sobbing and screaming as they pulled him back, taunting him, as he was dragged back to the compound.

Incoding jolted up, his chest heaving, the fans in his chestplate whirring. His mechanical eye scanned the room for danger, but there was none. He was alone. He sat forward, burying his face in his hands; one mechanical, one flesh. His heart was still hammering, his whole body trembling as tried to calm down.

Beside him, he heard his morails shift around. He felt Innocent's palm brush his thigh, and heard him sleepily ask if he was alright. He only managed a grunt in return. It wasn't real, Innocent assured him quietly, it's all behind you now.

The demons might not be real anymore, he thought, but they were definitely still alive in his head.


	7. Knives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Corden. Mind the tags!

_Too real. Too real. Too real-_

Yellow dripped down his arm, the knife gripped in his mechanical hand.

_Can't be. Can't be. Can't be-_

Tears slipped down his face and he pushed them away angrily, repeating the mantra he'd always known:

_Robots don't cry. Robots don't cry. Robots don't cry._

_Robots don't feel. Robots don't feel. Robots don't feel._

But you're not, his mind whispered as the blade split open his forearm again. You're not a robot. You're bleeding.

Robots. Don't. Bleed.

He hiccupped, gritting his teeth as the knife moved faster.

He was a robot! He had to be! He had to- had to-

He squeezed his eyes shut, dropping the blade and gripping his hair tightly, pulling his knees up to his chest. His breathing was shaky and fast as he pulled at his hair until it hurt.

"I h- have to b- b- be a ro- robot." He hiccupped under his breath, his body trembling with each sob.

He shrieked as Makeno pounded on the door.

"Corden! Corden, let me in!" The seadweller shouted, sounding panicked.

"Go away!" The goldbloods yelled. He heard something heavy slam against the door, several times.

Scared, Corden grabbed the knife, but his vision was blurry and hands too shaky. The door suddenly buckled and Makeno, his morail, burst into the room.

"Leave me alone!" Corden half yelled, half sobbed at him as the violetblood approached. Makeno knelt next to the bathtub, reaching out and gripping the hilt of the knife.

"Give it to me, Cordy." Makeno said quietly. Corden whimpered, stubbornly refusing to release the knife. "Cordy." Makeno repeated. He reached out with his other hand and slowly pulled Corden's fingers back. The gold didn't protest, sniffling.

Makeno put the knife on the floor and reached up, cupping Corden's face. Corden didn't look at him, staring at the wall.

"... I'm a robot." Corden mumbled.

"Of course you are." Makeno nodded, reaching over with his free hand and opening the sink drawers, pulling out a roll of bandages.

"But I bleed."

"Some robots do that." He assured him as he took his arm and began wrapping it slowly.

"I cry."

"Robots do that too. Ever seen a baby doll with a voice box that makes it wail? Technically a robot."

"I breathe."

"So do robots. Why do you think they need fans and filters?"

"... I feel pain."

"So. Do. Robots." Makeno told him patiently, tearing the bandage and pasting down the tail end.

"What kind of robot feels pain?"

"You do." Makeno reached up and cupped his face again, making the goldbloods look at him. Corden sniffled, tears brimming back in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whimpered.

"It's okay. Did you take your debugs today?"

"... No. I ran out the other night."

"Why didn't you tell me? Let's go pick up a refill."

"I don't want to."

"We can get you a new pack of those robot bug things you love." Makeno persuaded. Corden hesitated, then nodded.

Makeno gently helped him to his feet, before glancing at the blood.

"... Let's change your clothes, first." He added.

"What about my knife?" Corden asked quietly.

"I'm keeping it for now." Makeno told him firmly, stooping and scooping up the blade. "You can have it back when you're not bugged anymore."

Taking the goldblood's metal hand, he lead him out of the bathroom.

"... Ken-Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."


	8. Rope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Ruthless. An alternate fate for the old captain that i'd considered. Kinda lyricstuck? Mind the tags

_Well you only need the light when it's burning low_   
_Only miss the sun when it starts to snow_   
_Only know you love her when you let her go_   
_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low_   
_Only hate the road when you're missing home_   
_Only know you love her when you let her go_   
_And you let her go_

He'd mourned for so long; it'd been sweeps now. She was gone. They were gone, too. He was alone, just as he had been before. Only this time, it hurt. He sat on his knees in front of her temple; it was covered over in vines and weeds, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it. He was far from sober, several empty bottles around him. He was weeping, his fins drooped, his hair a mess, his coat discarded in the mud as the rain hailed on his shoulders. He heard thunder rumble and looked up, feeling the water wash over his face. He closed his eyes, violet tears becoming diluted as they slid down his cheeks.

He was washed up. Old. Tired. He reached into his shirt and grasped the wedding rings he wore around his neck. With a jerk, he pulled the necklace off. He got to his feet and threw the necklace inside. He stared at the golden rings that glimmered in the candlelight, before he forced himself to turn away.

_Staring at the bottom of your glass_   
_Hoping one day you'll make a dream last_   
_But dreams come slow and they go so fast_   
_You see her when you close your eyes_   
_Maybe one day you'll understand why_   
_Everything you touch surely dies_

He scooped up the rope as he walked past his hive; it was dark inside, his note left thumb tacked on the door. He wasn't coming back. With a determined, if not slow, step, he headed for the trees. He'd picked it out a few nights ago, deep in the woods. They wouldn't find him for a while, if ever. If they did, he hoped there wouldn't be enough to bury. He didn't deserve it. Unafraid, he strode towards the oak tree.

It was sturdy, strong. The branches would hold him. With deft fingers, he tied the loops and knots, then scaled the tree. He inched along the branch and tied it off, using the skills he learned at sea. He tugged several times, making sure it wouldn't come undone. Closing his eyes, he slipped the necklace around his head. He sat on the branch for a long minute, gazing up at the two moons. They'd watched him his whole life, and now they got to watch him finish it.

_Staring at the ceiling in the dark_   
_Same old empty feeling in your heart_   
_Love comes slow and it goes so fast_   
_Well you see her when you fall asleep_   
_But never to touch and never to keep_   
_'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep_

Tears bubbled anew in his eyes, and he brushed them away.

"I'm sorry, Innocent. Incoding. ... Lucina. It was all my fault. I couldn't-" His voice broke and he swallowed, "I couldn't keep you safe. Please forgive me when you see me."

Squeezing his eyes shut and taking his final breath, he pushed off the branch. It shook and bowed as it took his weight, but it held. The rope snapped taunt, and he dangled, instantly still and without a heartbeat.

_'Cause you only need the light when it's burning low_   
_Only miss the sun when it starts to snow_   
_Only know you love her when you let her go_   
_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low_   
_Only hate the road when you're missing home_   
_Only know you love her when you let her go_   
_And you let her go_


	9. Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft Vornik. Turned out a little more wholesome than it was supposed to be, but that's just how he is. *Shrug*

Vornik hounded through the woods, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He leapt over the underbrush, weaving through the trees in a blind panic. Behind him, a beast blundered at his heels, snapping and snarling with fury.

Vaulting over a log, he saw a large tree up ahead, the branches low enough he could climb it. With a spark of hope, he launched himself towards it. He grabbed the lowest branch and swung himself up. Without pause, he scaled upwards.

When the branches started to thin, he stopped. He pressed himself against the trunk, trying to catch his breath. As his heart slowed, his feelings caught up with him: fear and anxiety overwhelmed him and he curled up, lime tears slipping down his cheeks. He sniffled and hiccuped, daring himself to glance down.

A pair of glaring red eyes stared back, the monster growling angrily. Vornik swallowed, his breathing shaky, as he heard the thundering, tell-tale footsteps of his lusus. He clenched his jaw and braced for the worst.

He heard his lusus snarl, and the beast below him roared back defiantly, before it bellowed in pain as three sets of canine teeth ripped into it.

Vornik squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears, but he couldn't block out the sounds of bones breaking and snapping, ground against the giant fangs of an angry, three headed wolf. He sobbed, terrified, as the beast struggled against its fate.

He dared to open an eye, only to squeeze it shut again, but the image was seared on his mind: flashing teeth and glaring eyes, a flash of white fur and crimson blood.

He heard a final, eviscerating scrape of bone on bone, and the beasts fell silent. Shakily, he opened his eyes, and saw six, bright, green eyes blinking at him. The giant, three headed wolf, his muzzles covered in blood, whined in concern for their charge. Vornik gave him a weak smile, still rattled from the experience.

"You're fucking terrifying, dad." He told the canine, patting the snouts as he stood up on the branch and started climbing back down. The wolf growled in agreement.


	10. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Gehero. A more detailed version of his battle against Hounding.

"Maggot!"

"Worthless!"

"Coward!"

_ **"D i s g r a c e."** _

The mocking words hissed in his mind, like serpents. They bubbled in his subconscious when he slept, conjuring nightmares and dream terrors. They haunted him when he was awake, whenever the night grew too quiet. He heard them on the wind, heard them in the silence. It hurt, and hurt badly, but he was only another victim to his ancestor.

He’d heard all the stories. The limeblood, the blueblood, the gold, violet, and rust- each of their stories tied back to _him; _executed, shot, captured, heart-broken, bludgeoned- they’d all suffered, either directly or otherwise, at _his_ hand. He knew there’d be more coming, too; more, with more stories, that no doubt stemmed from what _he _had done, in some way or another. They were coming back, and they were only going to suffer again. He had to stop it; he was a samurai, it was his duty to protect the meek. He’d coward from Hounding’s shadow, too afraid to act, lest he become like him. He’d run away with tears in his eyes, and retreated into his plants and cats and books.

Others had stood up to the monstrous troll, but they’d only limped away, hurt from a battle that did nothing to deter the violence and onslaught the monster brought onto innocent trolls. He'd seen friends and companions become bloodied and hurt, and it was all his fault. He hadn't the courage, before, to stand up to his ancestor, but now...

Gehero opened his eyes, gazing up at the armor before him. He’d commissioned the best armorer he knew to forge him a suit of samurai armor, worthy of kings themselves. From the helmet to the boots, it was made of the hardiest leather, the strongest steel and cut from the finest cloth, it was truly a masterpiece. The metal was tinged purple and black, his symbol emblazoned on the chest piece. The leather was pale, bright loops of color that held together the dark. It had cost him a great deal to have it made, and he'd never meant to actually wear it. It was meant to be a symbol, a statute of pride, a goal to reach; if he was ever going to reach it, it was now. With the upmost care, he pulled it out of its glass case and got to work.

It fit him like a glove, snug and comfortable and perfect; it wore him, just as he wore it. He tied his hair up in a bun, then slid the helmet on. Buckling it under his chin, he felt a rush in his veins; whether it was the feeling of power, or simply confidence, he didn't know. What he did know, was that he was always _meant _to wear it; to don his armor with pride, to answer the call for help.

He looked to his left; on the wall, hung in a place of honor, was his blade, the Black Widow. Made of bone and ebony, obsidian steel, it was the strongest, most powerful blade he’d ever crafted. He pulled it down and sheathed it at his side.

He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. He drew himself up and squared his shoulders, standing tall and proud. He looked like a warrior, he thought with pride, his eyes slowly travelling over the soldier before him. It felt good, he thought. It felt right, to be in this armor, to take a blade into his hands and wield it in the name of good, in the name of honor. But even as the pride burned in his belly, grief bubbled in his heart.

He shared _his_ horns. _His_ sign. _His_ blood. _His_ strength and _his_ size.

But he didn’t share his soul, he told himself firmly. He didn't lust for violence, he shunned it. He tread a path littered with flowers and happy memories, while his ancestor waded through a festering trail of blood and corpses.

That was where they divided, and that was where it would come to an end. He’d seen so many suffer at his ancestor’s hands, at the end of his precious ax. For the good of his loved ones, his friends, his very future, he had to bring it to an end.

Enough was enough, he told himself, taking a deep breath.

Geared for battle, Gehero made sure his cats had enough food and his lusus was comfortable. He left a note taped to his door, asking anyone who found it to feed his cats and water his plants. Just in case. This taken care of he set off, his armor clanking gently. He made his way to the city where his ancestor lived; a crowded, loud, and bright place where highbloods ruled and lowbloods didn't dare go out when the moons were at their peaks. It was perfect for a beast like Hounding.

He knew where he’d be, too; it was a saturday night, which meant he was at one of his fight clubs. Hounding's lust for violence was unquenchable, and he sought to spill blood any way he could, whether it be with his ax or his fists.

Gehero marched up to the door, his head held high, hiding the nerves that fluttered in his belly. The bouncer only needed to see his horns to allow him access. They bowed him inside with haste, muttering welcome. The door squealed as it shut, the firm _thud_ of it locking in place like the chop of an executioner's ax.

Following the sounds of cheering and screams, he made his way down a narrow, dimly lit hall. The whole place reeked of blood, booze, and smoke. The air was thick, almost heavy with it, making his eyes water and lungs burn. He could taste it in the back of his throat, and coughed in a vain attempt to be rid of it

He entered a giant, arena-like area, like the colosseums of old. Thousands of highbloods, from teal to fuchsia, lined the seats, shouting and cheering on the contestants. He'd appeared out of a tunnel that lead into the stands; he was high up, too, and had a clear view of the battlefield below. To his left was a bar, where fighters drank themselves numb before entering the rink. Next to it was a booth, where the wealthy put down money on their chosen champions. Bets were being made as blood splattered the ground. Overhead, standing on a balcony, was an announcer, excitedly calling out commentary as the two fighters clashed.

Gehero felt sick, bile rising in his throat. It was disgusting that they could revel in another’s pain. He swallowed, telling himself to suck it up. He had a job to do. And there he was, the Hounding, standing in the arena. The giant was shirtless, only dressed in his brown jeans, his skin slick with sweat and blood. His thick mane of waist-long hair was a wild, tangled mess, dried and crusted with even more blood. His hands were wrapped in tape as they clenched the handle of his war ax, lovingly titled Broodbane. Around him, several corpses laid. Before him, a blueblood drove at him with a spear.

Hounding roared, his eyes bright with bloodlust and pleasure, as he swung his blade. He broke clean through the spear, and the blue’s head was sent flying into the crowd. There was a minor skirmish before a purpleblood rose, the head held aloft, and the onlookers went wild. Hounding pounded himself on the chest with one hand and slammed the hilt of his weapon on the ground, throwing back his head and howling with laughter. He looked like a feral beast, Gehero thought as a tremor rattled down his spine.

“WHO’S NEXT?! WHO DARES CHALLENGE ME?! I’LL TAKE YOU ALL ON, COME ON!!” Hounding bellowed. The crowd fell silent, waiting for a challenger to step forward. Even those who originally came to do battle backed away, not even daring to look at him. Hounding swung his head from side to side, glaring at each and every troll. It was now or never, Gehero thought. He took a deep breath and forced himself to step forward.

"I will." He said; though his voice was quiet, it rang out like a scream in the night. Immediately, a spotlight was shone on him, and he flinched at the harsh light. The crowd fell still, petrified, as Hounding whirled to face him. Delight melted into confusion, realization, and then… fury.

“YOU!” He snarled.

“Me. Your reign of terror is over, Arrach. I’m here to put you in your place. You’ve hurt too many people." Hounding’s face twisted at the sound of his name. He bared his teeth, his tusks glinting in the light.

“How dare you, you pathetic whelp!_ I’ll tear you apart!_” He rumbled.

“So you accept my challenge?″ Gehero demanded, narrowing his eyes. Hounding paused, thinking for a moment, before he laughed.

“Yeah. _If_ you can beat me, I won't hurt any motherfucker, ever again. If you can't, well,” He sneered, “I just get ta get rid of another _disgrace_.” Gehero bared his teeth back, a nerve struck, as marched down the steps into the arena.

“Deal."

“Weapons, or barehanded?” Hounding asked him, almost courteously, as he stopped. They stood several feet apart, watching each other like hungry wolves.

“Weapons. My Black Widow against your Broodbane.″

“So be it.”

Hounding swung his ax about, showing off; he twirled it over his head before he slammed it on the ground, hard enough that the concrete cracked. Gehero pulled his katana from its sheath and braced himself. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let himself feel the hilt, his fingers placing themselves. A sense of inner calm filled him, a honey warmth that swirled with the icy terror in his chest. Distantly, he heard the announced size them up, and declare that bets were open. Gehero opened his eyes.

“GO!” The announcer bellowed into his mike, to the uproarious, ear-shattering sound of cheers.

Hounding snarled, raising his ax as he charged. Acting on instinct, Gehero threw himself out of the way, his armor jangling. He skidded and spun, raising his blade just in time to block the ax from cleaving off his arm. The blades screeched off each other in a shower of sparks, and Gehero jumped back to break away. He could hear the crowd screaming for his blood, while a few shouted for him to take Hounding down.

Hounding roared as he charged again, ax braced in front of him. Gehero leaped forward and met him. Again, their blades met, and again, they both backed off. He had to finish this, fast, he thought. Under the lights and his armor, he was already getting tired and hot. His paint was dripping off his face.

This thought in mind, he took the initiative and charged, his sword raised over his head as he went to strike. Hounding was thrown for a moment, startled, but he quickly recovered and beat him back with a thrust of his ax.

Their battle raged for minutes on end; Gehero trying to land a blow, any blow, and Hounding sending him flying. Gehero was slowing, too hot and overburdened, but he mustered every ounce of strength to keep going.

“ENOUGH OF THIS!” Hounding bellowed as he had to beat Gehero back for the twentieth time. Drawing himself up, his good eye suddenly turned purple; he lashed out with his chucklevoodoos, attacking his descendant's mind.

Gehero cried out in pain and crumpled to his knees. His brain felt like it was on fire, crushed into submission and seared in a burning rage by his ancestor’s overpowering ability. His ears ringing, he distantly heard Hounding laugh as the cheers fell silent once more.

“You're _pathetic_, whelp. You haven't even figured it out yet. I cannot be beaten. I am the _ultimate troll_, the _pinnacle_ of what purplebloods should be. You? You're _nothing_. A weak, worthless maggot who is powerless to do anything. You turned your back on the Messiahs, and they turned their backs on you. I’ll send you to them now, so you can apologize in person.” He mocked, spitting on the floor in disgust.

Gehero squeezed his eyes shut, tears tracking down his face and mixing with his paint. Zakuro, Simkei, Guardian, Ninja, Guardian the Cat, Nobility, Dusk, Spiderdad… their faces appeared in his mind’s eye, hovering like mirages. They smiled at him, pride on their faces as they watched him. One by one, they faded away. The message was clear.

“No…″ He rasped, trying to rise. Hounding, who’d lifted his ax and prepared to bring it down on his descendant’s skull, paused.

“No?” He repeated, amused.

“_No_.” Gehero grit his teeth, “I don’t care if you think I’m pathetic. I’m _not_ worthless, and I’m _not_ powerless. You may think you’e the ‘ultimate troll’, but _you’re_ the one that’s nothing.” He forced himself up, onto one knee, and raised his head slightly, “I’ve lived a full, wonderful life. I have friends- a _family_, even; people that will stand by me no matter what. You’ve let yourself become consumed by anger, by bloodlust. You have _no one_, and _nothing_ of substance. You _live_ for battle, because that’s the only thing that makes you _feel anything_ anymore. **_You, Arrach Urfath, are a pathetic, broken man_**.″

As he was speaking, he slowly got to his feet. He raised his head and opened his eyes.

“_**And I’m tired of being afraid of you**_.″ He finished in a dark growl, feeling something snap in his very soul. His eyes had changed; the sheen of tears disappeared, and they were consumed by glowing, purple power.

For the first time since he’d returned to the world of the living, Hounding was _afraid_. He took a small step back, staring at the troll before him. He no longer saw the meek, cat loving boy that brought shame to his bloodline. He saw a warrior, a soldier, a man that had been training his whole life to take down monsters...

...And he’d managed to push him to the brink. Never before had Gehero exhibiting the possibility of even knowing what chucklevoodoos were, much less _having_ them. Hounding had assumed his descendant was just broken.

Gehero picked up his blade, his eyes still glowing. His raw, furious power seemed to surround him in a purple haze. Every troll in the room felt the air crackle, their hair standing on end. Some of the lower bloods got up and left, the energy in the room smelling of danger.

“Let’s finish this.″ Gehero- if he was even Gehero anymore- growled. He felt a rushing, thrumming energy course through him; he'd never felt this way before, and it both exhilarated and frightened him. He felt like he could take on the world, leaving his enemies in his wake. He could shed blood with the flick of his wrist, leaving ash and ruin behind him as his mind was shrouded with a thick fog of pleasure-power.

Hounding quickly recovered from his shock, tightening his grip on his ax.

“Fine.” he hissed, bracing his feet. With a roar, he charged the samurai.

Using strength he never knew he had, and speed he’d never tapped into, Gehero dodged the giant with ease. He whirled, leaped into the air, and brought the blade down onto his ancestor’s shoulder. All the while, his eyes were glowing, the light pulsing along with his heartbeat. Hounding roared in pain as his flesh was sliced open, all the way down and across his back. His bright purple blood sprayed from the wound, running in rivulets down his back. The crowd was screaming now, whether for him or Gehero, he couldn’t tell. Furious, he rounded on the smaller troll, and swung again.

Gehero leaped over the blade like he would a jump-rope. He ducked under Hounding’s arms and stabbed his katana into his thigh, then ducked behind him and cut the back of his knee. With a scream of agony, Hounding lost his grip on his ax. It hit the dirt with a loud thump, as he himself was brought to his knee.

Panting, his heart beating itself against his ribs, Hounding looked up to see Gehero approaching, his blade dripping with purple. He stopped a few feet away, the crowd fallen silent. The only sound was Hounding's panting, and the boom of his heart.

“Do it, then. Kill me.” Hounding growled.

Gehero slowly reached up and removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm. The glow in his eyes faded.

“No. It’s much more painful for you if I let you live. Live with the humiliation of the fact that I, your _pathetic disgrace_, beat you. Live, change, and be better. And,” He continued as Hounding opened his mouth, “I am not weak for not finishing you off. It’s easy to kill; you've proven that. It’s much harder to let someone, who’s done you so much wrong, survive. And you know what? Maybe I _am_ weak. There′s nothing wrong with that. Physically, I am strong, but my heart is soft, and my hands will never again make another bleed. That’s what’s important. Arrach Urfath,” He stepped forward, until they were nearly nose to nose, “I forgive you.″ He whispered. Hounding’s eyes widened.

Gehero stepped back, placing his helmet back on his head. He sheathed his blade, and turned around. Under the eyes of the crowd, he walked away, disappearing into the dark hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's scratching on the walls, in the closet, in the halls  
It comes awake and I can't control it  
Hiding under the bed, in my body, in my head  
Why won't somebody come and save me from this, make it end?  
I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin  
I must confess that I feel like a monster  
I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun  
I must confess that I feel like a monster" - Monster, by Skillet


	11. Robot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Corden, when he was still enslaved. Mind the tags.

"Get to work, goldy." The overseer snarled, shoving Corden towards his station. Corden stumbled, but moved without question. He sat down at his little work space and booted up the computer. His fingers moved automatically, the cuffs around his wrists biting into his skin. He felt himself become disconnected as he logged in. With an sensation near to relief, he let himself slip into this state. Meanwhile, he picked up the connecting cords and plugged them into his cuffs.

The sharp pain of his psionics being forcefully removed was dull now. Like a sharp stone that was stuck in his foot, it has smoothed itself over until it was just a weight he bore. The computer surged to life as it siphoned his power. His fingers flew over the keys. Codes ran before his eyes like water. Maps, diagrams, models, and equations came to life.

Behind him, a pair of overseers paused to watch. He felt their eyes on him, before they moved away. He was <strike>doing well</strike> operating efficiently, he thought; he hadn't felt the sting of their whips on his back.

A robot operating at optimum capacity doesn't need to be fixed, he thought. He continued working. Next to him, in the next stall, he heard a <strike>fellow gold</strike> a gold let out a strangled scream as the whip cracked. Like firecrackers, he heard the pop of whips, followed by the shrieks of others. Glancing at the time, he saw he'd been working for seven hours already. The others were beginning to flag, exhausted by their energy being taken. So they were beaten, whipped, or worse. Corden heard a scuffle a few rows over, and heard the gold over there get dragged away, screaming and sobbing.

They were not operating properly, he thought with a frown. Broken robots had to go. He redoubled his efforts. Again, he felt the eyes of overseers pause on his back.

"How long has this one been here?" One asked.

"Since he was a wriggler. Soon as he had control over his psionics, we sat him down and plugged him in. He struggled at first, but we broke him eventually."

"Not broken." Corden said without turning around or slowing.

"What?" The first demanded.

"Not broken. Broken robots are useless. They cannot work. I can. Not broken." He explained.

"... What the hell?" First whispered to their companion. Corden heard the _shff_ of the other shrugging.

"His brain got fucked up somewhere along the way. He's convinced himself he's a robot. We don't try to tell him otherwise; he shuts his mouth and does his work."

"Main computer chip working at highest capacity. No bugs detected. Coding is not 'fucked up'." Corden responded without thinking.

The overseers snorted in amusement. They watched his fingers fly over the keys for a moment more, before they moved on. The hundreds of scars on Corden's back itched. He shuddered, sending a surge of power through the computer. When he was sure the overseers were a good distance away, he brought up his private program and set to work.

It was nearly complete, he thought with pride; he'd been working on it the past few months. His fingers flew with more vigor as he edited and clipped the coding within.

Finally, after sixteen straight hours of work, the bell droned overhead, signalling their shift was over. Corden promptly closed down his programs and pages, unplugged his cuffs, and stood. He joined the line of other golds and marched for their sleeping quarters.

It was cold, cramped, and damp, and dusty in the quarters, but no one had the energy to complain. They each had a threadbare blanket and rough cot to sleep on. Silently, they each went to their bed and sat, waiting. A drone entered the room and passed out dinner; a bowl of hot mush and bread. Corden frowned at the bowl in front of him. It wasn't optimal fuel for him, he thought with distaste; he needed a charger, or a charging station. But none of this available, so he had to settle for the rougher method. He ate.

The bowls were collected, and the drone left. Now alone, the yellowbloods whispered among each other. Corden laid back on his cot, staring up at the ceiling, and listened to the hushed voices. He folded his hands over his chest, sighing slowly.

"They took Marren away! Did you see it?"

"Of course not, an overseer was breathing down my neck. Where do you think they took him?"

"Where else? The incinerator."

"Inefficient robots are taken apart for scrap." Corden said quietly. The troll next to him turned to look at him.

"What?"

"Inefficient robots are taken apart for scrap." He repeated.

"For the last time, we're not robots, Corden."

"Of course not. You certainly aren't. But I am."

"How do you figure that?" The troll on his other side asked. Corden glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, unable to turn his head because of his horns.

"Because no decent person could treat another living being with such cruelty. Ergo, we are not living. But we think and move. Logically, this means we are robots." He said quietly. The trolls around him fell silent. He closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter. It'll all be over tomorrow."

"What do you mean?"

He didn't answer. Back at his work station, the private program, which he'd named "E. S. C. A. P. E.", began ticking down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Cause I had a fire, passion and desire  
Now all I require are circuits and wires  
Inside was an ocean of soul and emotion  
Then you cut me open, now all that I know is  
I am a robot, thoughtless and empty  
Don't know who sent me, don't know who made me  
Electric robot, everything's gray now  
Numb to the pain now" -Irobot, by Jon Bellion. (Corden's song)


	12. Glitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft Gehero

“_**And I’m tired of being afraid of you**_.″ He snarled.

A̦̻̼̗̞͝f͚̼̺̙̝ͅr̼̬̱̣͜a̺̬͇̞͖ͅi̷͉̗̰d̘̲̼̩ ̢͓̺̫̖̺͎̙o͉f͈̥͈ ̼͈h͎̠̘i̷̹̤̯̙͖̗̯m͝?̻̘̙̮ͅ ̡He͚͖͎̼͍͖̣ ̮s̘͓͈͝ẖ̹͙̙̗̪o̫͎͓̼u͔͚ͅl͔̣̠͍̬͓d͖ ҉̖̱̹̣̯̗b̠̙͕̭͉e̹̝ af̕r͚̳̪͖̠̟ai̫͟d ͝o̷͔̠̳͎̝͇͔f̸͖͖̲̫ͅ ͈̺͓̘̘̖͠Y̘̮̲̜̞̘͞O̵͉̼̰̫̱Ṷ̶̜͚! ̤̜̯ͅM͡a̶k̤̳̜͎̞͍̭̕e̮̮̝̹̦ ͈͈̮͙̯̳̹͜h̙̰͖̦̹̪̖i̥̞m̧ k̷̯͉͔n̨̥̭o̥̫͖͖̫̰ẉ̫̯̝̦̲ͅ ̯̹͈̠̺͖̩h͚͉̟i̢̞̫ͅs͚̮ pḷ̯̲͕ͅa̠̳͉͓̩̬̮c͓̤̜̹̠͞ȩ̤̯!̡͓ ̞͕̙̤̬̯̭M͏̜͇a̠̻̮̠̦̫k̺͕͈͘e҉͎̜ ͉̙h̩͉̦̝̖̼̘im͇͉̜̝ ͈̟̥͙̥ͅc̮͖̘o̧̗w̮͇̖e̤̞̳͈͙ͅr!͕̜ ̧͉̗͔B̴͓̹̻̖r̰͍̤̙̣̼̤͠i̢̦̦̟͓̹̰̪n͉̻̹̦ģ̼ ̫̮̘h̬̭̩̱̜i͔͈̜m̫̲ ̧̝̦t҉o͕̞̭̻ h̞̼͎̬̺i̡͓̣̫̬̰s̢̥̱͕͖͙̦ ̟͇k͔̖̙͍̟̝͇n͈e̗̥̜̪͈e͖̘̙̺̙s̙!̶̺

Gehero's body moved on it's own. He felt trapped in his own flesh, watching through windows as he fought his ancestor.

_What- what is this? What's happened to me?_

H̵̲͉̫͖̣̦̪u҉̬̩̭̫̻̞r̠̘̼̮̠t̥ ͚̳̜͔̺h͍ị̖͇̙̼m̺͎.̼̻͇̞͙ ̬̤ͅH͍̪̟̥̫͈̮̕u̠͓͙̺̰̤͍͠r̖̣͙̻̞t͘ ̗̭͙̭͔̠̙h͉͕i̬̗̘m҉͚̩̪̫̠͇͓. ҉̤̯H̢̠̤̱̪̞̟ͅu͙͇r̭̞̯t͖̗͈ ̕h̙͢i͔m͚͇̫͚̟͜!̦̳ H̢̝͇͓̬̞͇ͅU̹̪͠R̺̯̲̻̤̻̙T̷̮ H͚͔̬̥͕I̴͖̯̟̳M͎̤̫̺̲!͈͎͈͖ ̖̰ͅḴ̜ ̬̦̻̲̗̼̯͝I̜͓͔̩ ͈̗̲͎͘L̨̘̹̼̳̮ ̯̝̠̗͜L̙̝͞ͅ ͚̻̪̜H ͈̼I͕̪͍ ̷̪̣̝M̖͚̘̼̩̝!̪̭͚!̦!͖̹̞̙̜͟

_What? N- no! I don't want to kill him! I don't-_

M͖̠̟A͇̖͕̗̜̼̰K̰̰E̗̹͖̖ ̖̯͇H͍̞I͚͉̹̮M̬̻̱̰͉̕ͅ ̝͕̲͓͚B̞̜̤̝͖L͚E͎̠̖̝͈̗͟E̻̪̪͍̹D̳̙ͅ!̧!̝!͓͔̙  
---  
  
_No! no, stop! Stop, please! This is enough!_

͚̺̺̥̱ͅỊ̬̖͍ͅt͘'̴̮̪̲s͚͙ ̺̯̖͙̞n̞̮o̢ṱ̬̫̜̻̮̻ ̘̩̩͔e͍̰̫̺̩͎̮n͙̬o͠ư̖g͍͙̰͟h̖͚̻̣̗̞!̯̩͚͠ ͉̬̞͎I̛t̫̗ͅ'̵͎̗͇s̟ ͏͓͍̹̼͖͎n͓͔͍͢e̳v͚͉̤̻͔ͅe͟r ̶̼̲͇̭͎̼̱e̡̺̞̖̻̦n͖̝̫̜̙͕͟o̙̖̩̱̞ư̱̣͉̪̩͓g͖͕͚̻̣̺̩ḥ̬!̝͇̦ ̨He͓̫̩͖͖̜͎͢ ̥̤͔͚̤m̨̳u͖̘̬̰͇s̝͝ͅt̨̼̗̟̙͇̻̫ s̤u҉̯̗f̶̩͎f͏̺͈̹e̞r̥̱͈ ̝̺̹̩t̩͟h͕͞e ͙̙̪̲̞s̯͇̝̰̳ͅa̷m͈͖̼̥e̷̠͚̹ͅ ̟̤̖̜͈w̙̲a̭͍̙̰͔̩̠͠y͖̹ ̢͖̱̙̲̠̞h͔̟̝͉͈̺e̝̥̜̱̤̣ͅ ̟̤ma̙̲͉̳̫͓̱d͍̰͙̭̘̻e͖̗̪̙̪͔͎̕ ̷͕̯͙̙̙y͚o҉͇̲͈u̹̦͡ ͙̦͞s͇̟u͠f̩̰̤̠̺f̵̺e̷͕r̩̖̳͙̬̱!͕̪ H̫̗ͅͅe̞̼̜̙͕ ̥̼͇̦̖mu̻͙̣̮s̭͚̻͟t̥ ̱̹̞̻̲h͎̤͡ͅu̢r͕̱͉̝͡t̰,̻̺̥̘̯͉̫ ͢t̲ơ̝͉o̩̭!̸̰ ̬̻Y͍̬͔̻͓o̥u͓̠̩͕̥̺̣ ̟̪͕͈͉ͅw̺̖̹̝͙͘a̟̯n͔͈t̝̕ ̝̳̦̲̤̻̱t҉̪̘̩̘̣̭̫h̩̼̬̱i̮̬̭͎͎̞̫s͎͓̘̟̥͔,̬̮̬ ̜̱͕̬y̛o̳̝͈̲͎͖ṷ̦̠̠̮̞͎ ̢̻̲͍͙ͅͅͅkn̩o̡͖w̗ ̤̝̤y̫̹̦͢ͅo͖͙͜u͙̠̠̭ ̞͎̖͇̠̼d͘o̩̤̱͙̭͇̭͢.̧̜͎̤͔̣ ̶D̮o̯͙̩͢ ̷͉̖͖̳̰n̠o̤̘̟͕̬͇t͚̲͠ ̧͓̙̭͎͈̠̺d͔͍̹͙e̼n̲̲̹y͉̠̲̙̲ ҉̱̖̞̰ͅy͈̺̭o̕ur̺͚̦̣s͕̙̘̩͙͘e̗̱̰ͅl͓͔̙͎̩̱ͅf̳͕.͔̳̰̲̝͙ ̵̞Y͎oų͚̹̪̤̫̰ ͈̖̩a̖̘̭r̨͈͈̪̪̻͔e̼̥̻̬̮̲͕ m̠͔̟̞̕ḛa͏͔͉͖͍̹n̘̩͎̳̕t̠̥̝͖̯ͅ ̸̩͖̺̲̖͙to̧̹̥͇̣ ̰̯s̸̭̣͕͍͖̖̻p̞̣̞̤i̶͔͚l̜̗͉ͅl̦̖̖ ̫̣̗̦țͅhẹ̵͉ ̫̗̪̤̙̗̖͞b҉ͅl̡̝͔̦̖̜̮o̲͈͔̥o͉̬͉̤͉ͅd͚͎̬ ͍͍̰͔̣̭o͈f̛̟ ̹͇̟y͡o̘͔͈͍̗u͖͜r̤̘͠ ̭̱̦̲̝͙͞e̗͜n͎̳̗̭̬͖e̞̦̘͚̤̟m̺̭̪͇͉i̻͍̤͘e͖̯͍̘s̖͇͉.̖ ҉̣ͅH͞e̶̗̰̥ͅ ͓̗͚͍̩̕d̩̼̯̳̰e̹̭͓ͅse̵͉͉̻̠̫r̦̝͔v͇̜̗̥̯͇e̼͈̣s̨̞͍ ͏̰̮͚̻͙̫̟n̪̪̙̦̜̣̪o̧ ̲̲͝m͈͙̤e̢̫͙͙r̵̳̤̟͇̤̱̻c͏̦͕͚̞͈y͙̟̕.̻̱̞̻

_Yes, he does! He doesn't deserve to die! He needs a chance to change, to be better! Everyone does!_

Gehero felt like he was drowning, battling against a tidal force that threatened to swamp his head. He watched as he approached Hounding, who had dropped to his knees. His legs stopped moving, and they watched each other.

Y̱̜͍o̻̼u͙̝̙̮̠̥̤ ̘̮͔͜c̥̺͚̼̬̠a̙n̸͇̱n̙͉͉͉o̴t̬͙̻ͅ ̶̦de̫͇̫̻̥̻ͅn͙y̦͇̺̦̠̯ͅ ̰̱͚͝y̨̻̗̩̝͇o͢u͔̼̪͎͜ͅr̺̥͘ͅ ̝̲n̼͕̩̥̠͚͈͞at̛͍u̲̜͞r͚̠̳e̟̹͕̫̺.͜ Y̤͓̗͔̥̤o͈̙̠͕̹̣͟ͅu͔ ̛͖̝͍w̟̖͎͓̥̱̜͝a͇̭̝n̙ͅt͖̘̰͚̘ ̪̭͙͚̺̳͝t̛̻̞o̱̟͖ͅ m͚̱̱͝ąk̹̻̭̠e̕ ̻̻͚͕h̘̦̮̰ͅi͘m̨͔͇̘͚̜ b̞̩͎l̶̻͖̜̘e̼̱͓̭̰̬͜ͅe̳͍͈̭d.̘̖̦̪̟͎͟ ̞̟̩H̯͖i͇̤̯͙͕̞͟ͅs҉̝̦ ̤̲̺͓s̯̘̯͇̬̠ͅk̘̙̠̯͝i̭̻͈n͟ t̜͎͝o̮̣ŗ͎e ̯͉͈̟͙̞͟b̧̟̠͕̫̝̠e̵̖ne̲̬͚͕a͙̗͢t̷̠h̢̜̭̲̱̦ ̩̠̠̯̙̦̘͜o̭̳͖̳͞u͕̲͖̝̙̗͜r̼̩̼̦̲̳͇ b͓̥̳̳l̙̟̼͖̰̪a̜͖d̥̩̠̺̞̞̘e̲̞̯̗ͅ.̟̬̰̤̣͔ ̫̫̙̤̻H͖̗i̙̪̬͡s̭͉͓̞̼̹͇ ̪̬͎̣̮͙͖bḽ̳̰͇̥̗͙͠o̲͕̭̱͓̥̜o̥̼̞͖̘d͎̩ i̳͉̤̙̲̻s͢ ̲͚̲͉̱͖͠s̵̱͖͈̮̲͚ͅt̥̥͕̪͡i͔̭̻͞l̠̠̮̬͍͙l̼̮ͅ ̣̕w̗e̱̱͍̯̪̲t̻͖̩̤͎̺ ̲̦̤̭̻u̠̩͇̗̝̯pͅo̠̺̱n̹͘ ̹̝̝͜t͟h̭̰͔̯e̫͎͕͖ͅ ͅs̝̲̻̪̺͇͉͟t̴͓̝͇̰e͈̙͎ȩ̲͔̩̩͍̥l͍̟̙̤̕. ̵͉̭̙̞Y̢̤̮͔̖̖̰o̶̪̯̗̻͙u̘̲̖͕̱̜̯ ̡͔c̵͓̻̦̣a̬͡n͚̝͕̙͖̮ ̟̩̲͔͖̹͟ma̖͚̙̘͝k̩̜e̪̭͎̱̕ ̥̲̼̗̕s̫̯̼̳̝̤͜ur͙̭̱̹̝͇͉͡e̜̠͙͕ ̞̖̳̖̩h͝e҉̘̩̜̰͚̖ ̢̮̝̝͎̣̺͖ne̱̗͍̰̼̥v̸̳̱̼͙̞̤ͅe̤̼̤̮͎ͅr̤̤̟ͅ ̴̬͖h̶̟̦̖͉͕̺u̢͔̙͚̯r͓̮̜̥tş͔͉̗̘̮ ̡̻ą̜̪̮̺n̶͉̠̬o̭̲͎̰̻͜t̫͇͓͎h̘̪̠̰͔e̘r̭̙̭ p͍e̩̘͓̹̝̺̺r̹͙̻͍s̹̻̻o͙̜n͓͉̟,͎̗̘̙̮̩ ̼͉̣̟͓̪ͅe̳̣̜̪v̨͖̟̣̙͚͖̞e̡̺̝̤r̫̫̮̱ ̜̹̙͍͇͚a͈̯̖͚g͖͎̼̫̟ͅą̘͎͖̱͎̠̠i̝͔͜n͠.̞̜͉̝̠

_  
... I cannot deny my nature...? ... But I don't have to take pleasure in it. I will resist it until the day I die. Denial is to run. Resist is to fight. Whatever you are, I'll resist you, too. You are not who I am._

His mouth was moving, but he didn't hear what he was saying, for the thing in his head suddenly screamed. His vision went dark, and when he could see again, he had his helmet back on and was walking away.

Iţ̥͔̪̟ͅ ͙̙i̙̳̠sͅ ͇͎̟͝y̵o̧͉͕͕̱̝̬̣u̶̙̼̻ ̨w̦̼̝̜͖͜h͔̻ͅo͖̫̲͓ ̤͔̦i̵̩̻ṣ̯̜͔͓̲͠ ̞̗̦̻ẉ̼̪̹̜͔̞r̥͎̦o̞͖̞ng̤.̴͈̞̫ ̨͉̭̗̹̤I͝ Ḁ͈M̠̯͕̯̗̺ ̭͖͙͉̞͈͕͢y͞ou̳̭͇.̵̘͔̖̪̬͖̠ ̛̤͙͚Ạ̥̤͕̫̱͜n͔̗͎͔ḑ̬̩ ̗̤̗͠y̭̯̮̞̠̳̯͘o͍͍̹̹̼u̧̮,̡͓̹̥͔͔̟ ͍̫͎ar͓̞͉̗e͔ ̖̮̦̫̣̫͓a ̸m̨̲͉o͎n̷̘s̡͈̘͔̦̤t̻͞ȩ̝̬̗̳r̶͉͎̜̗.̹


	13. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Rufuss.

As the sun began rising, Rufuss made his way back towards his hive. The blueblooded seadweller had worked all day, and was ready to pass out. As the seacowboy mounted the steps of his ranch hive, he shuddered. He paused and looked around, puzzled, but shook it off and headed inside. Carefully taking off his hat from around his horns, he set it on the hat rack and took off his boots. Flexing his toes in the carpet, he headed for the kitchen. Lil Lady, his ancestor's old basset hound, was sprawled out on the linoleum tiles, snoring next to her food bowl.

"Hey, Lady. You seen where Bluegill went?" Rufuss asked her as he dug leftovers out of the fridge. The old dog sighed. At the sound of his voice, Sweetpea came barreling into the room. Sweetpea was Blugill's puppy, a four month old blue lacy with a habit for chewing on shoes. She yapped at him, tumbling over his feet as he made a plate and stuck it in the microwave. Laughing, the cowboy scooped the puppy up and rubbed her head. He walked back into the living room and heard the shower running in the second bedroom; Bluegill was in the shower, then. Rufuss gently tossed the puppy the two feet onto the couch. She landed on the cushions and rolled about, wiggling excitedly.

He left her there as he headed to the bathroom to wash up. He washed his hands and bent down to splash water on his face. As he did so, he didn't notice the lights flicker. He stood back up and grabbed the hand towel, rubbing himself dry. He peered at himself in the mirror. The lights flickered again and he glanced up, frowning. Need to replace the bulb, he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something dash by the doorway in the mirror. He glanced at the door, but saw nothing. He pursed his lips, thinking, when he saw something happen to the mirror.

It seemed to shiver, like water, before it fogged up. Alarmed, he reached up to rub it clean. Before he could touch it, however, words began to appear, written in the fog.

R... u... n...

Rufuss frowned, putting his hands on his hips. He wasn't the superstitious sort by any means, but he knew supernatural goings-on when he saw it. However, he wasn't scared by letters.

"Run? Ain't that a bit of a cliche? If yer gonna haunt my mirror, at least be original 'bout it." He said impatiently. There was a pause, before he felt the temperature suddenly drop, and the mirror fogged back over.

S... c... a... r... e...

Y... o... u...

Rufuss raised an eyebrow. Two words; they were advancing. Before he could speak, there was a loud bang from the other side of the mirror. He jumped slightly, and saw it rattle violently. A pair of handprints suddenly pressed against the glass. The fingers were long, way too long. The prints moved lower, elongating, like someone was dragging their hands downwards.

Another bang, and actual hands pressed against the mirror. Not just against it, nearly through it, stretching it like silly putty that morphed between the fingers. Rufuss took a step back, laughing uncomfortably, and the hands pulled back, his mirror returning to a flat sheet.

"A'ight, bud, ya got me. That's- that's purdy good. But, uh, can ya stop? I can call a priest tomorrow, getcha on yer merry way." He said. The mirror didn't respond. Rufuss nodded, relieved. "Uh, yeah, great. So, I'll just-"

The mirror shattered. Like someone had hit it from the other side, glass flew off in an explosion of shards. Rufuss threw his arms up to defend himself, shouting in alarm. He slowly lowered them again to look.

In what was left still on the frame, he saw eyes. Dozens of black eyes, staring at him. Around them, the mirror turned red. Where the glass was missing, blood bubbled from under the remaining shards and spilled down towards the sink. He opened his mouth, ready to admonish the ghost for breaking his property, when an arm- ghostly white, horrifyingly thin, and with long, clawing fingers, shot out of the shards. Then another, and another, and more, all of them snatching at him as he pressed himself against the wall.

"Knock it off!" He shouted, terrified, and tried to swat at one. Instantly, three latched onto his arm, grabbing his sleeve, the nails biting into his skin. He cried out and tried prying them off. His other arm was grabbed. He struggled to pull away, but they pulled back, dragging him towards the mirror. Hands grabbed his shoulders, shirt, anywhere they touched. His large belly hit the mirror and he planted his feet, trying to push away. He screamed, scared for his life. He could hear Lil Lady barking, and heard Bluegill shout for him.

He tried to call for help, when a giant hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat. It squeezed, choking off his air and voice. He froze, his heart thundering, when all the arms gave a hard yank, pulling him _into_ the mirror. There was a _schlourp_ sound as he was taken, and then, silence. Out in the kitchen, the microwaved beeped.


	14. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. ?????

"Are you the devil?"

...

"Are you god?"

...

"Am I in hell?"

...

"I see. Is it because of what I did?"

...

"That's fair. Is he... Is he still alive?"

...

"That's good. I'm glad. I hope he knows I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do what I did. They promised to help me. Instead they made me worse."

...

"Oh. I... Jegus."

...

"What about the others?"

.......

"... They're in some deep shit, then, huh? That's sounds pretty bad."

...

"Yeah. ... Could I go back and see him? I want to say sorry."

...

"Not even if we struck a bargain?"

...

"That... Seems manageable. Burn me up, then."

...

"Yeah, I can take it. Couldn't be much worse than what already happened, right?"

...

"I- <strike>_**A̧͖̯̻̠̼̟̙̰̜̱̤̩̩͚͟͜͞͞A̵̡̧̱͕̮͉̤̼̺̬̖͜͠Ą̷͇̰̤̟̠̞̗̺̪̭͇̦̰̻̳͉̣̥̥A̴̶̢͓̩̦̱͙͖̭̜̫͡͝ͅͅA͇̱̝̻͚̖͔͔̼̭͢͝Ą̸̮̼̗̹̩̪̱͞A̶̸̝̖͈͓̳̱̥͓̜̹͈̣͎̪̜͎̺͟͠A̠̤̖̠͙̱͇͇͎͟͟ͅḀ̴̯͖̦̖̭̩̖͖͕̱͝Ą̧̛̯̣̰̦̯̙͕͖̹͉͜A̜͇̖̼͢ͅA͍͍̠̦͔̤̰̳͡͝H̶͡҉̬͉̖̦̠̫͔̦̼̫͖̼̳͍͍̹̝H̷̨̫͓̲̤̦͓̜͉̟͢H̠̫̱͚̹͇̕͠͠H҉̧͕͈̹̺̰̟̞̝͉̭̠͕̦̘̻͡͡H̨҉͎̩͕͉̱̩̖̙̹͇̣̰̳͓͍H̸̕͏̥̝̥͕̗̩͇̯͙̠̮̤̳͖̺̜͟ͅH̷̯̹̖̩̪͙ͅH̶̶̢͎͍̤̠̱͔̣̼̯͎̥̰̝̺̮̹̦̕H͜͠҉̯̼͙̝̥̝̟̤!̨͏̛̜͔̥͇̖̕!̧͈̝͇̹̝̦̲̣̬͍̠̰͙͟͡͞!͏̨̦̭̲͖̦̹͍̰̭̤̯͕͢!̸̢̨̲͇̻͈̬̠̜̤̗̼̝̭̼͞!̷̡̣̠̥̻̰̠̻̯͘͟͟"**_</strike>


	15. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Hounding

He didn't know where he was. Wherever it was, it was dark. He could barely see three feet in front of him. A wind whispered past him, pulling through his hair like fingers. He had the feeling he was being watched, but saw no one. He spun on his heel to make sure. Behind him, a pair of eyes were watching him from the shadows.

"Who are you?" He rumbled. The eyes blinked at him, before they moved forward, and he saw the shadow of a face, enough for him to recognize them. "Oh. It's you. Why am I here?"

The Innocent said nothing. He glanced to his left, and Incoding emerged from the dark. As Hounding looked at them closer, he saw Innocent's clothes and hair were soaked, his skin pale. Incoding was bloody, missing pieces of flesh. What was left was lacerated with scars and burns. Innocent looked up at Hounding, then looked to his right. Ruthless, who was equally bloody.

Decaying appeared at Incoding's shoulder, his skull caved in. Bluegill appeared next to Ruthless, blood dripped from his mouth and out of a hole in his chest.

"What do you want with me?" Hounding demanded. They didn't answer. Behind them, more figures appeared, but remained in the shadows. Hundreds of them, and Hounding knew each of them from their silhouettes alone; they were his victims, all the way from his first kill to his most recent. Innocent looked over his shoulder at them all, an expression of raw, painful grief on his face. He looked back up at Hounding, tears tracking down his face.

"Why?" His voice said, but his mouth didn't move. "Why this? Why them? Why us?"

"It's my job. I was following orders." Hounding huffed, defensive.

"For what purpose?"

"For the Empire. For the Church."

Innocent blinked at him. He glanced behind himself again, and several of the shadows moved closer.

"They were part of your job, too? They, the truly innocent ones? The ones that offered no resistance, and only served to whet your appetite and feed your blade?" He asked, his voice breaking with distress. Hounding swallowed. The sadness in the room was palpable, like a whole other being, standing next to them.

"I did what had to be done." He growled, standing firm. Bluegill raised his head.

"Didja?" He asked quietly. His mouth didn't move, either. "What was the point o' killin' me? 'Cause I offended ya wit' a song? So I needed ta lose my life?"

"You-"

"You were my kid, Arrach. My wriggler. I raised ya, I loved ya, and you turned 'round and killed me."

"You're a mutant. You were going to die anyway."

"You don' know that. We'll never know that now."

Decaying looked up at him, raising a finger and pointing at him.

"The Hound of the Church, the Dog of the Empire, you brought down kings and thieves. Mothers, fathers, children, and lovers. You wield a blade forged in misery, the handle fused to your hands by the blood that dries on your fingers. We remember you. You remember us. But what is remembering good for, when we're all coming back. You only have a few allies, and none strong enough to defend you against the monsters in your own head. You may be but the spider, who spun his web to catch us all, but overload even the strongest strings and they will snap."

The wind, which had first been a whisper, blew harder. Unnerved, Hounding took a step back. Incoding and Ruthless raised their heads, and spoke together.

"We are the products of your precious Empire. We are what it does to trolls." They chorused.

"I gave my life for them, and in the end, they took everything from me, only for me to rip myself apart." Ruthless groaned.

"I gave my life for them, and in the end, I couldn't take enough from them, and destroyed myself in the process." Incoding sighed.

"We only wanted to live, and they made sure we didn't." They said together. Innocent stepped forward, water dripping onto the floor.

A strong force knocked Hounding on the shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Innocent looked up at him, and his grief-stricken face changed. It became one of agony, and then, fury. Tears raced down his face as he bared his teeth, his nose wrinkling and eyes narrowing.

"All this blood is on your hands, Arrach Urfath. All we wanted was to live. All we wanted was to be free. All you did was bind us in shackles. You hold the chains in your hands. You cannot be rid of us, and we cannot be rid of you. Like your web, we are forever connected, bound, tied together in the infinite ways of the world. Do you remember what I said, before you pushed me into that tank? 'When you are as dead as I will be, we will meet again. Will you say sorry? No. But neither will I. I can’t die again, and neither can you. And I will take advantage of that.' I stand by those words, and by the army of victims that you created." Innocent snarled, his voice as savage and eyes as wild as the wolves that raised him.

Hounding felt a heavy weight in his hands; so heavy they pulled him to the ground. Looking down, he saw hundreds of chains, gripped in his fists and bound to shackles around his wrists. Looking up, he saw a metal collar around each shadow's throat, their chains trailing to the ones in his hands.

"N- no- I will not-" He tried to speak, but a harsh wind blasted him in the face, knocking the words off his tongue.

"Your pyre is built upon the corpses of those you wronged. Burn in the flames of their vengeance, for it is the only retribution your soul will receive." Innocent growled.

Hounding sat bolt up right in bed, gasping and breathing heavily. He was soaked in sweat, his eyes searching the room frantically. He was alone. He swallowed heavily, trembling. He threw off his covers and stumbled to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he turned on the sink tap and splashed himself with water. He looked up at the mirror, his face dripping, and heard their words echo in his mind like ghosts.


	16. Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Incoding. Mind the tags, the title says it all. I spared no expense in details and i felt sick just writing this.

Incoding could only watch, his mouth gagged and hands bound behind his back, as he was handed off to the fuchsiabloods. He might as well have been a package being dropped off by a mail drone as the Fleet troll quickly signed the transaction sheets and passed them back to the blueblood that had brought him. The blue bowed, then walked away. The fuchsia turned to him, looking him up and down.

"I remember you, Gold011001." They purred. Incoding visibly cringed; no one had called him that in sweeps. "You caused quite a stir when you left. We're glad you're back." He stepped forward, examining Incoding's face. "We heard about all your little... escapades when you were on the run. Enjoyed yourself, did you? You best cling to those memories, because we have to break you in, all over again." The fuchsia traced their fingers over the breast plate on Incoding's chest, chuckling. He stepped back and snapped his fingers. "Take him to the chamber, and send in our best Tortasilant* to fix him. He's not to leave until he forgets his name. Have them 'reprogram' him into a battery." They ordered, turning away. A pair of violet seadwellers stepped forward, grabbing Incoding's arms and leading him away.

Incoding struggled in their grasp as they lead him into the compound, and downstairs to the chambers where the most unruly slaves were, as the fuchsia put it, 'reprogrammed'. One of the violets punched him, hard, across the jaw as he continued to squirm.

"Knock it off, Gold. It's only gonna get worse if you fight it." They snapped. His jaw aching, Incoding held still as the other pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the door. They waited outside as the other- the one that punched him- lead him inside. Incoding glanced around.

The room was full of classic torture devices. From Iron Maidens, to stocks, to racks and breaking wheels. There were shelves and frames stocked with weapons and torture tools; whips, surgical equipment, knives, nooses- you name it, it was there. It was brightly lit, surprisingly clean and sterile. The violet led him to a line of cuffs on the wall. Pulling out a knife, he deftly sliced the binds on Incoding's wrists. As the goldblood rubbed life back into his hands, the violet undid the gag and pulled it off.

"I'm sorry, Incoding." They said quietly, surprising him. He glanced over his shoulder at them, but they didn't meet his eye. "I... I knew Deepbite. He was a good soldier. I'm sorry for your loss." They added. Incoding swallowed, nodding in understanding. "Please sit against the wall and raise your arms." They continued. Incoding did as they asked, sitting against the stone wall and raising his arms behind his horns, his wrists fitting into the cuffs above him. The violet locked the cuffs, and made sure they wouldn't come undone. They looked down at him, grimacing, and walked away.

The door shut, and Incoding was left alone. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eye and sighed slowly. Three days ago, he thought; three days ago, he'd been sitting around a campfire with Ruthless and Innocent. They'd just finished breakfast and were discussing where to go next, when they were jumped. They didn't have time to defend themselves; they were brought down, gagged and bound before they could blink.

Golden tears swelled into his eye as he remembered the last time they were together; the three of them, in a cell together. They knew it was over, that they were each going to find their end. Innocent had been taken first. They gave him time to say goodbye, but it wasn't enough. Incoding's throat still hurt with all the words he'd wanted to say. They'd held each other until the last moment, when Innocent was dragged away. Ruthless was dragged out next. Incoding had tried so hard to stay strong when Innocent left, but he openly sobbed on the seadweller's shoulder. They'd clung to one another as tightly as they could, but Ruthless was the one that pulled away.

And then Incoding was alone, just as he was alone now. He spent a day in that cell, until a purpleblood came for him, told him he was going back to where he began; the compound. He begged them just to kill him instead, and they laughed. They told him a traitor, a tool, doesn't get to decide their fate. He pleaded and screamed and offered anything in return, if they would just finish him off, and let him go to his morails in the afterlife.

Incoding was distracted from his grieving by the door opening. A large purpleblood entered the room, and quickly spotted him. Giving him a once over look, they nodded.

"Whips were yer preferred weapon, weren't they?" He rumbled. Incoding said nothing, but the purple shrugged, "Whatever, keep yer voice. I'll wrench it out a ya soon 'nough." They grumbled. The Tortasilant stomped over to the wracks of tools and began selecting several.

Finally, he around with a whip in hand. Incoding inhaled sharply when he saw it; his sign was engraved on the hilt. It was his own whip, the one he'd stolen when he first escaped. The purpleblood grinned.

"Recognize it, do ya?" He laughed, tapping the mark. He walked past him, towards a raised, circular pit of hot embers. Carefully, he laid the whip across them, except for the handle. The barbs embedded in the leathery-rope began to glow. While it heated, he turned and looked at Incoding. Marching over, he undid the cuffs. Grabbing him by the horn, he hauled the goldblood to his feet and spun him around, pressing his face against the wall. Roughly, he clasped his wrists in a set of cuffs that were higher up, meant to keep him standing. Incoding twisted, trying to see as the purpleblood walked away.

He spasmed in pain as the whip suddenly _cracked_ across his back. The barbs tore into his skin, ripping his flesh with their white-hot hooks. He bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to scream. Squeezing his eye shut, he felt tears fall down his cheek at the same time blood slid down his back. He heard the crack again, and a new pain bloomed across his shoulders. Again and again, the whip fell across his skin. He jolted, jerked, and flinched with each hit, but refused to scream. He was crying openly, his breath shaky and hiccuping.

The purpleblood growled, clearly displeased. He undid the shackles and Incoding fell like a sack of rocks. Not caring for the blood, he grabbed the goldblood and dragged him over to a table. He threw him on it, making Incoding land on his freshly opened scars. He grit his teeth, every instinct telling him to run. Before he could, his robotic arm was shackled to the table. The purpleblood grabbed the wrist of his actual hand, squeezing it tightly. Incoding looked up at him.

"Do ya know how much force it take ta break fingers, Gold?" He asked casually, a malicious grin on his face. Incoding's eyes widened as the purple grabbed his pinkie. "The same amount of force ya use ta hammer a nail." He answered, before he _wrenched_ Incoding's finger to the side and back. Incoding convulsed, kicking at the table. He heard, just as he felt, his finger break.

"FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK SON OF A BITCH I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" He shouted. The purpleblood laughed, delighted to finally have him speak. He grabbed Incoding's ring finger and snapped it too. Then his middle, pointer, and finally his thumb in quick succession. Incoding screamed at him, spittle flying from his lips. He was angrier than he was in pain. The purple grabbed a tool and pinched Incoding's hand with it.

It was like a pair of tongs, except the ends were flat, thick, and heavy. He pinched Incoding's palm and the back of his hand, before with a sudden, violent squeeze, and a jerk, Incoding heard his hand and wrist break. He screamed obscenities as the purple then shackled his broken hand down to the table. He moved around and shackled his legs, too. He walked over the the array of surgical tools and picked them out, laying them next to Incoding. He turned around to face him, sneering.

"We're just beginning, Goldy. Let's see how much longer you can scream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tortasilant: torturer + assailant; a troll specializing torturing enemies of the Empire, whether it be for information or punishment.


	17. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Vornik. This gets. This gets fucked up.

They hadn't eaten in days. Vornik could only watch as his pack starved.

The valley was in the thick of winter, and prey was scarce. Snow covered the ground, until each step was a struggle. Blizzards rolled in with each shift of the wind. Whatever prey was found was thin, and offered little substance. The adults could manage, but the pups were growing weak. Snow sleep, Alphadad called it. Vornik had made several journeys to his village and bought all the meat he could, but there was only so much he could carry, and so many wolves to feed. He was out of money, and out of food for himself. He'd resorted to breaking the ice over the river to try and catch fish, despite his fear of water. Anything he did catch, he took to the wolves. They needed more than he did. He spent nights trudging through the woods, desperate to find substance for his family or himself. The wolves with any strength left followed him, hoping for anything, even a rat.

Now, Vornik sat in the pack's den, next to a crackling flame. In his lap, four pups dozed; they were born when the first sweep of ice hit the land, and even if they survived, they'd be very weak until summer. For now, Vornik covered them with his coat and rubbed their backs to keep the blood flowing. Their mother paced by and sniffed them occasionally, nudging Vornik in thanks for watching them while she hunted.

While he could have tucked himself away in his own cave, the combined heat of the canines and fire kept him more comfortable. The wolves had grown used to the presence of fire, and several clustered close to soak up the heat. Alphadad laid at the entrance of the den, watching the snow fall.

"_What are we going to do_?" Vornik whined at him, making one head turn back to look, "_The pups are heavy with snow sleep. The pack is restless and weak. Prey has left the valley_."

"**We will survive, as we always have. As we have each winter. We'll do what we must to keep the pack strong**." He said softly.

"_How are we supposed to do that with no prey?_" Vornik grumbled, rubbing one of the pup's paws. Alphadad's ears pressed back and he looked away.

"**We'll do what we must.**" He rumbled. He heaved himself to his paws and glanced at the pack, before looking at Vornik. He had a deep sadness in his eyes, a look that Vornik didn't understand. "**We'll do what we must.**" He repeated, before he bound away. He was invisible in moments. Vornik watched him go, sighing softly.

As he worked to keep the pups warm, one of them began nibbling on his fingers; they were only beginning to be weaned, but not out of choice. Their mother's milk had dried when the prey went away. When the pup got nothing from his form his finger, she began whining, nipping more insistently.

"I'm sorry, little one." Vornik murmured, his heart breaking at the sound of her cries, "I have nothing to give you." Still, she continued to nip. He let her, focusing on her brothers and sister with his other hand. Their mother came by again when she heard their whines. She sniffed them, then looked up at Vornik.

"_No prey. No milk. Only ice and hunger. No prey make no pups_." She whimpered, her tail tucking under her legs. He scratched her behind her ears.

"_Have hope, Mothering One. Prey will return. Pups will grow and hunt it down_." He assured her. She whined, bowing her head, before she padded away. Vornik could practically smell the grief on her; her pups were dying, and she could only watch. He jumped, startled, by a sharp stabbing pain on his fingers. "Ow." he looked down and saw the pup that had been nibbling on him had broken the skin. His blood dribbled down his finger, onto her lips. Tasting a warm liquid, she grew excited, and lapped at it eagerly. She yipped happily, and Vornik realized what she was doing with a pang; milk yips, a noise pups made when their mother was near. Her siblings began yipping, too, and squirmed towards his bleeding finger.

The adults looked up, the yips catching their attention. A large male with grey fur, who Vornik called Kiibba, got to his feet at the scent of blood. He moved closer, sniffing Vornik's arm. He looked at the other wolves, and communicated with them silently. Vornik watched their ears and tails twitch; this was the only kind of communication he was not privy to, lacking a tail and proper ears. He couldn't even understand it all that well. The mother appeared and gently picked up one of her cubs, taking him back to her nest. One by one, she removed the pups to the back of the den.

Vornik let her, and stood up. He stretched, then moved towards the mouth of the cave; he needed to go hunt again. However, Kiibba ran in front of him, blocking his path. He raised his tail, baring his teeth. Vornik paused, puzzled. He tipped his head to the side and whined quizzically.

"_Brother? Why do you stop me?_" He asked.

_"Pack must eat_." Kiibba grumbled.

"_Yes. I go to find prey_." Vornik explained.

"_Prey is already here_." Kiibba insisted.

Vornik perked up and glanced out the cave, hoping to see Alphadad returning with prey in his jaws, but saw nothing. He frowned; he thought Kiibba might have smelled Alphadad returning with food. He looked back at the wolf.

"_Where is prey?_" He asked. Kiibba suddenly advanced on him, ears and tail alert.

"_You_." He snarled. The other wolves circled the young troll, all of them with the same expression and stance. With a sense of horror, Vornik realized what they were doing; he wasn't a canine like the rest of them. At this point, anything that wasn't a wolf could be considered food. He swallowed, before growling at Kiibba.

"_Not prey! I am Omega! Back down_!" He ordered.

"_Not wolf means prey. Snow sleep will take the pups otherwise. Pack must survive_." Kiibba snarled back, his hackles lifting. The other wolves gnashed their teeth in agreement. Vornik pulled out his sickle, gripping it tightly.

"_Back down!_" He ordered again, "_Or pack will get hurt!_""

"_Pack will do what it must to survive_." Kiibba snapped.

Before Vornik could make a break for it, the large wolf leaped at him. Vornik was bowled over, and the rest of the pack jumped on him. He screamed and thrashed, crushed under the many writhing bodies. He lashed out blindly with his sickle, before he felt teeth sink into his arms and legs. They tore at his clothes and skin, ripping them both. One of them bit his wrist and he screeched as he heard his wrist snap, forcing him to drop the sickle. The smell of blood filled his nose, and he heard his own stomach rumble, making him sick; that was his own blood that he smelled. Teeth sank into his thigh and he cried out, sobbing as he struggled to get away. He screamed until his voice broke as he felt a chunk of his own flesh come away.

And suddenly there were teeth around his throat. He beat at whichever wolf it was with weak fists, tears coursing down his face. With a jerk, a snap, and a rip, his throat was torn away. His screams stopped and he fell limp. The wolves tore into his corpse, desperate for the warm meat. Bones crunched and blood splattered. The pups were fed, and the pack was satisfied.

When Alphadad did finally return, he had an elk clutched in each maw; he'd managed to find a small herd that was caught in the valley by the snow. It was enough prey to keep the pack happy for two months at least, if they rationed it. At the smell of his charge's blood, he dropped the corpses and ran to the cave, roaring with fear. The wolves immediately cowered in the back of the cave as their alpha found what was left of his son.


	18. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Musrio + his spade. This is. Oof. I'm sorry. ABUSE WARNING. Said it in the tags but saying it again just in case.

"_**MUSRIO**!_" [Redacted]'s furious voice thundered through the hive, making Musrio cringe. The young rustblood curled up tighter, tucked in his closet. He was crying, clutching his necklace desperately.

"Please, please, just go away. Go away, go away, please-" He whispered, terrified. He heard [Redacted]'s boots march upstairs and heard his bedroom door bang open. He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard his spade tearing the room apart as they searched for him.

"Where are you, you worthless piece of shit?! What did you do to my stuff?!" His spade snarled. Musrio shouted in fear as they ripped the door to his closet opened, glaring down at him. "There you are!" They snarled, grabbing him by his sweater and ripping him out of the closet. They threw him to the ground, and Musrio yelped as he banged his horn on the side of his coon. He struggled to rise, when the steel-capped toe of [Redacted]'s boot hit him in the stomach. He gasped and coughed, the breath forced out of his lungs.

"D- [Redacted], I didn't- I can-" Musrio tried, sobbing, but he only got another kick; in the ribs this time. He sobbed as they grabbed his horn, pulling his head up to face them. Musrio tried to shrink back, seeing the furious fire in his spade's eyes. They wasn't their self again, the rustblood thought, the Hands had done something.

"What did you do to my office?!" They demanded, spit flying from their lips.

"I didn't do anything, I swear!" Musrio cried, gripping his amulet tightly. [Redacted]'s own amulet dangled near his face. "I only went in to tidy up while you were gone! I vacuumed and cleaned the windows, that's all, I swear on your gods! I did't touch your papers!" He insisted, tears streaking down his face.

"LIAR!! MY RESEARCH PAPERS ARE MISSING!!" [Redacted] roared, throwing Musrio against his coon, before he proceeded to punch him several times. Musrio threw his hands up, sobbing loudly.

"No! No, they were on your desk! You left them in your journal, I swear!" Musrio pleaded. He felt his cheek get sliced open by the ring on [Redacted]'s left ring finger. His spade snarled and grabbed him, throwing him across the room, where he hit his dresser and collapsed. [Redacted] watched him, panting raggedly, but Musrio didn't dare move. He laid there, hiccuping back tears. [Redacted]'s breathing slowly calmed and they straightened up, their furious look clearing. They left the room, and Musrio heard them descend the stairs, before faintly hearing the door to their office open.

There was a minute of silence, in which Musrio struggled to sit up. He froze when he heard their footsteps coming back. They appeared in the doorway, an unreadable expression on their face. They walked over to Musrio and crouched next to him; the rustblood had to try very hard not to flinch as they reached out, petting his cheek, under the cut.

"I'm so sorry, Mus. You must have moved them when you were cleaning. They weren't where I left them, which is your fault." They said in a poisonously-sweet voice. Musrio swallowed and only nodded. They tapped the bleeding cheek, their finger coming away with his blood on it. "Let this be a reminder not to touch my stuff. You know better now, don't you?" They crooned.

"Y- yes." Musrio simpered.

"Yes what?" [Redacted] narrowed their eyes, making Musrio drop his own.

"Yes, [Redacted]." He corrected. [Redacted] grunted, satisfied, and reached up, petting Musrio's hair.

"I love you, Rio. You know that's the only reason I do this."

"I know." Musrio nodded.

"Say it back, then."

"I love you, [Redacted]."

They smiled, pleased, and kissed his forehead. They stood up and stretched, turning away.

"Clean yourself up and get dinner started. I'm going out for a while." They ordered.

"Yes, [Redacted]." He said quietly.

They marched away, the tattoo on their shoulder seeming to wave goodbye as they left. Musrio pushed himself to his feet, looking at himself in the mirror that hung above his dresser. He'd survived this time, he thought, but how many more times would that happen? One of them was going to break eventually, and Musrio only prayed he'd come away with his life.


	19. Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. The morail trio; Incoding, Innocent, and Ruthless

"Ru, we got- t- t- ta stop. My p- p- prosthet- tics are f- f- freezing." Incoding whined through clenched, chattering teeth. His robotic eye was on the fritz, but it informed him it was well below zero, near frostbite temperature. The three of them found themselves trudging through a frozen wasteland, in an attempt to bypass a large highblood city. Ruthless took the lead, his fins carefully wrapped and gills covered; out of all of them, he was the most miserable, but he was the biggest of the three of them, so he took the lead to protect the others from the wind, using his body to break up the thigh-high snow they currently struggled through. Innocent was next, his head bent low and eyes squinted against the snow. Incoding brought up the rear, keeping a look out behind them.

"We can't stop, Cody! There's nowhere ta shelter!" Ruthless called over the wind, his brogue accent thick.

"I'm gonna get frostbite if we stay in this wind much longer! Innocent's lips are blue! We have to do something, or we're going to die!" Incoding shouted back. Innocent raised his head at the sound of his name. He looked around, then perked up. The other two stopped. They knew that look; Innocent had seen something, or thought of something important. The limeblood glanced at them both, then crouched and began to pile snow together. The other two looked at each other.

"In, babe, what're ya doin'?" Ruthless asked. Innocent didn't speak for a long minute as he began beating the snow together with determination.

"Snow cave." He said finally. "If we cannot find shelter, we must make it."

"That's brilliant!" Incoding cried, dropping beside Innocent to help. Ruthless looked around, then moved around the growing lump and began pushing snow up the back. Together, the three of them managed to make a large hill of snow and pack it tightly. Innocent stepped back and gestured to it.

"Cody?" He asked, raising a hand. Incoding nodded, raising his mechanical hand. A circle in the palm flickered with light, before a beam of energy and heat blasted out. Carefully, Incoding carved a large space in the snow, before Innocent gestured him to stop. He approached, quickly packing the snow back together around the edges, while the snow that had melted quickly froze again. Now, there was a large snow cave, the back brace against the wind. "Inside!" Innocent ordered. The other two didn't argue, ducking inside quickly, and he followed. He turned around and packed snow into the entrance, sealing them in.

With all three of them inside, the cave was rather small, but at least they were out of the wind. The morails huddled together, trying to get warm. Ruthless unwrapped his fins and rubbed them, much to his own embarrassment, but they were numb and he didn't want to lose them to the cold. Innocent shivered against Incoding's shoulder, and the yellowblood held him close, rubbing the lime's arm vigorously to warm him up.

Fortunately, with the three of them and their combined body heat, the small space began to heat slowly, until they were able to feel their extremities again. Innocent unslung his backpack from his back and opened it. After a moment of rifling, he pulled out a chunk of smoked meat. He tore it in three and passed the other pieces to the other two.

"What's this for?" Ruthless asked.

"Need to eat. We need the energy." Innocent said firmly, pulling down his mask and tearing into the food. Ruthless shrugged and began devouring his own. Incoding, however, was feeling his chest; due to the mechanical aspect of his left side, he was forced to be shirtless, but he'd wrapped his cape around his bare skin. Still, the metal was frozen from exposure, and the fan in his chest sputtered weakly. His eye had stopped freaking out, and both his arm and leg were working, but it was his chest that worried him.

Sweeps ago, when he'd escaped his enslavement, the explosion he'd set off had scarred him badly. It destroyed his left lung and much of his heart, and he'd had mechanical replacements ever since. If they continued to be problems, he feared he could die. Still, he kept his fears to himself. Dropping his hand, he tore into the meat.

With full bellies, the three of them dozed off. They were warm and safe for now, which was a rarity even without such extreme conditions. Incoding unclipped his cape and laid it out on the ground, and the three of them bunched together on it. Innocent had a thin blanket tucked in his bag, and he pulled it out, laying it over them. With Incoding in the middle, and his morails pressed on either side of him, the three of them fell asleep.

But it was only Innocent who woke up. He sat up, immediately knowing something was wrong. He looked at his morails, already knowing what he'd see. Ruthless and Incoding were dead. Incoding's skin had turned black and blue where it met the metal, and the rest of him was unnaturally pale. Ruthless's face was drained of color, too, his fins stiff and lips blue. Hypothermia, Innocent thought sadly. he looked around, and heard his ears pop; the silence around him was deafening.

The storm stopped, he realized. He crawled over to the edge of the cave and punched the snow away. Crawling out, he looked around. The night was still, the fresh snow up to his waist at this point. In the distance, not a hundred yards away, was the twinkling, warm lights of a lowblood city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how the hell do you say 'scottish accent' when scotland doesn't exist


	20. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Vornik and his old matesprit, who will be referred to as 'Blue', since that character did not belong to me.

Violent, hacking coughs made Vornik leap to his feet and run to the back of his cave. His matesprit was deathly ill, and no matter what concoction Vornik bought and/or made seemed to help. Vornik knelt next to his shaking matesprit and pet his hair as another round of coughs shook him, bright blue blood spattering his lips. Vornik quietly wiped it away.

"Can I get you anything?" The limeblood whispered. The blueblood shook his head, pulling the blankets up further.

"I'm okay, Nik. I'll be fine." Blue insisted. Vornik felt his throat clench and he swallowed.

"Of course. Let me get you a drink." He said gently. Blue shook his head.

"Not thirsty." He mumbled. Vornik put a hand on the other's forehead; he was burning, his scalp damp with sweat.

"I don't care. You need to replace your fluids." Vornik insisted. He laid a hand on the blueblood's chest and focused. His palm glowed faintly as his power swept through his matesprit, who instantly relaxed, his eyes half closed. Vornik rose to his feet and fetched a cup, dipping it in the water barrel before he brought it back. He knelt down again and raised Blue's head, pressing the cup to his lips. Blue took a few meager sips, before he turned away and coughed again. Vornik set the cup aside and laid his ailing mate back down, tucking him in.

"Vee?" They asked quietly. Vornik settled beside him, petting his sweat-damp hair.

"Yeah?"

"When I go-"

"Blue, no. I told you, you're going to beat this. We're not going to talk about-"

"Vornik. Just, shut up and listen, okay? I'm dying. There's no point beating around the bush. We've tried everything, and nothing has worked." Blue cut him off. Vornik glanced away, feeling a lump rise in his throat. Blue paused, taking a ragged, bubbly breath, before he continued, "As I was saying, when I go, I want you to burn my body. I don't want... whatever I have, to spread. Burn me down to ashes, and bury me in our special place." He finished. he reached out, grabbing the sleeve of Vornik's jacket. "Promise me."

Lime tears swelled in Vornik's eyes and his lip quivered, but he nodded. He swallowed thickly.

"I promise." he croaked. Blue smiled, relieved, and laid back, sighing slowly.

"Maybe I will beat this. If I do, you can push me in the river for this, okay?" Blue murmured. Vornik hiccuped, caught between a laugh and a sob.

"Okay." He managed to say, his voice cracking. Blue slowly dozed off, and Vornik got to his feet. He walked out to the mouth of the cave, and onto the cliff. He sat on the edge, dangling his feet over the sudden drop as he watched the forest below; the night was clear, bright, and gorgeous. Looking up, Vornik could see the northern lights dancing over his mountain. Alphadad, who had been curled up on the cliff, came and sat next to him, looking up at the stars with him. "_Is there a word for what's wrong with him, in our tongue_?" Vornik asked his lusus.

"**_What is wrong with him?_**" One of the heads returned.

"_His lungs are bleeding. He can't eat, he's got a high fever, and his kidneys are failing. He refuses to go to the hospital._"

"_**He fears it, just as you fear water**._"

"_Yeah... I don't know what to do. Do you know what it is?_"

"_**No, but I have seen it before, in our brethren**_."

"_Is there a cure_?"

"_**Not without your 'hospital'**_."

"_What happens to our brethren?_"

"**_They cough blood, and grow weak. They refuse food and drink, as their lungs fill up. And one night, they sleep, but they do not wake again._**" The three-headed wolf said gravely. One head leaned down and nosed the limeblood on the cheek. "_**Have heart, Little Omega. He may yet beat it**_."

"_But our brethren do not wake_."

"_**They did not have you to care for them**_." Alphadad reminded him, before he got to his feet and padded away. Vornik sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest. He closed his eyes, his thoughts rolling over like stones. The sound of coughing had him getting to his feet and hurrying back inside.

Blue was sitting up, doubled over, hacking blood into his hand. Vornik sat beside him and rubbed his back until it stopped. When it finally subsided, Blue leaned on his shoulder and wiped the blood on the blanket. Vornik felt his heart crack; he was so frail, so tired. With a heavy feeling, he knew it wouldn't be much longer. He carefully laid Blue back down, shooshing him gently. Kicking off his shoes and socks, Vornik crawled under the blanket with him. Blue pushed at him half-heartedly.

"You'll get sick too." he mumbled.

"I haven't yet. I'm fine. I want to hold you." Vornik said quietly, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. Blue didn't protest, willingly curling against the lime's chest. Vornik held him for a long time, staring at the wall as he listened to his breathing. "Blue?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Vornik squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears running down the side of his face and sinking into the pillow. He heard Blue take a stuttering, bubbly breath, and let it out slowly.

He didn't take another.

Vornik clung tightly for a moment, before he rolled away. Stumbling, half blind from tears and drunk on grief that threatened to drown him, he made his way down the tunnel at the back of his cave. He slipped down the sharp incline, until he reached a part where the ground leveled out. The sun was beginning to rise, faint light bleeding up the tunnel so he could see. He sat down on the stone, staring at the wall.

Up on the wall, expanding for several feet in either direction, was his greatest, most heartbreaking masterpiece. It was the night sky, lit with brilliant stars. Below was his mountain, a warm glow that seemed to bleed with the feeling of home lit in the cave. Above the mountain top, the northern lights twisted together in a blinding brilliance of color. They seemed to dance, just like the ones in the actual sky, as they flowed together into the form of a three-headed wolf. Upon the creatures back, a pair of nebulae bled together in blue and green, molded into the figures of two trolls. Around them, constellations came to life in the shapes of more wolves.

Tears poured down Vornik's cheeks as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. He'd painted the mural in a frenzied passion, after confessing to Blue. The grief, sorrow, and utter distraught that swirled in his chest seemed to build on itself, like pressure in a jar. Unable to contain it anymore, lest he burst, he threw back his head and howled, his voice reverberating up and down the tunnel. His voice alone was heart-breaking, and any creature within the near mile stopped to listen, and felt a sadness sweep over them.

He howled and howled until his voice broke. He collapsed on his side, sobbing, his chest heaving, and didn't realize his lusus had joined him for a minute. The giant wolf settled beside him, gazing at the mural.

"**_Y**o**u have lost what no wolf can stand to lose. Your mate has passed on to join the rest in the sky's dancing fires_**."

"_I don't- don't want him to- to- to be dancing. I want him h- here!_" Vornik sobbed. The giant wolf laid down, curling around his pup, his own heart breaking.

"_**There is much to be lost in this world, and many ways to lose it. The way yours has left is possibly the cruelest of all.**_" He murmured. Vornik buried his face in his lusii's fur, sobbing, and didn't stop until he fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's hard to deal with the pain of losin' you everywhere I go  
But I'm doing it  
It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone  
Still harder gettin' up, gettin' dressed, livin' with this regret  
But I know if I could do it over  
I would trade, give away all the words that I saved in my heart  
That I left unspoken." -What Hurts the Most, Rascal Flatts


	21. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Makeno and Corden. Another wholesome one because it's like two am and im tired

"What the hell did you do this time?" Corden asked, irritated. Makeno winced as the goldblood bandaged his arm. The seadweller had seen better days; his nose was bleeding, he had several cuts on his face, arms, and chest, and was absolutely covered in bruises.

"I-"

"Who was it and what did they say?" Corden sighed, grabbing another wad of toilet paper and passing it to him. Makeno pressed the wad to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

"A fuchsiablooded asshole. He made a comment about goldbloods and I just-"

"Ken. _Please_ don't tell me you just went up and punched him."

"No, I tried to be civil! I asked him to knock it off."

"Where were you?"

"At Brewbloods."

"That's the coffee shop, right? Were you doing a performance?"

"Yeah. Well, I was taking a break, between performances. I was having a coffee and chatting with a few regulars, and this pompous asshole comes in and makes a comment about the goldblood who makes the drinks. Like, no one fucking asked and he pops off about his blood and-"

"I get it, I get it. So how did you get into a fight?" Corden sighed, grabbing a jar of ointment and rubbing it over the cuts.

"He wouldn't shut up! So I told him to knock it off, that Brewbloods is a safe place for lowbloods, and he had to make a comment about that, so I asked him to leave. He said he didn't want to, so I said he either left then and there, or I would break his jaw."

"And... he didn't leave?" Corden guessed, laying bandages over the ointment.

"Yup. So I clocked him. One thing lead to the next, and uh... He hit me with a chair."

"He what?!"

"Yeah. I've got a 'sweep of free coffee' card now."

"You know they did that so you don't sue."

"I wasn't gonna sue!"

"They didn't know that. Anyway, what happened after that?"

"I beat the shit out of him and threw him out. I got a free coffee, and I came home."

Corden sighed again, shaking his head. He finished bandaging his morail up, then cleaned up.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ idiot." Makeno grinned.

"Unfortunately."

"Hey!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its not gorey but the original idea was so much worse. I couldn't bring myself to write it, it was that awful.


	22. Animals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Bluegill

"Alrigh' darlin', lemme see." The grizzled cowboy murmured, kneeling next to the trembling kelpie foal. Her mother watched a short distance away, eyeing the blueblooded seadweller suspiciously. She usually trusted the old man, but not when her newborn was involved. The foal was born only a week ago, and had suddenly collapsed to the sea floor. The mother swam to shore as fast as possible and brayed until she got Bluegill's attention. She lead him down to the sandy flat, below the coral-rich plain where the kelpies usually roamed.

Currently, the half horse, half fish creatures looked gorgeous. With sleek, green-blue fur and wild manes like seaweed, their hooves decorated with barnacles. Their back half melded seamlessly into a large fish's tail, the same shade as their fur. However, if they were to go to the surface, they'd turn into monstrous creatures. A literal walking corpse of a horse, with teeth like a wolf's and mouths that were unnaturally big. Flesh would fall away, revealing insides and bones. Their fur would turn black and oily, and their mane would become like strings of rotting flesh.

Bluegill was concerned about this, because if the problem was internal, he might have to take the foal to shore, which would only make it harder to figure out what was wrong. He gently rolled her over, running a hand over her belly and tail. She balked as he touched her stomach, and the mother whinnied in alarm. Bluegill shooshed the baby gently, petting her muzzle until she calmed. He gently pressed on her belly again and she squirmed, her gills flapping unhappily. He poked and prodded, ignoring her protests, but found nothing wrong. With a sigh of relief, he stood up.

"I's just a tummy ache, mama. She'll be okay." He told the mare, who tossed her head. Bluegill bent down, wrapping his large hands around the foal's middle and lifting her up, coaxing her back up. "Come on, lil one, ye'll be fine. Just take it easy, got it?" He murmured. He wrapped the baby around his shoulders and turned, kicking off the seafloor and heading for the top of the drop. He heard the mother follow, and he lighted gently on the edge. He set the foal down, and she halfheartedly wiggled through the water. The mother swam up and nosed her, before she swam to Bluegill and nudged him in thanks. He pat her cheek, rumbling happily.

"Take care o' her, an' don' let 'er eat anymore fer now." He told her. He wasn't always sure the creatures understood him, but the mother seemed to, this time. With a flick of her tail, she swam away, guiding her foal back to the heard. Bluegill put his hands on his hips, observing the heard; with the birth of the foal, he now had thirteen kelpies to care for. The entire herd gently grazed together among the coral reef, watched over by Bluegill's lusus, a giant walrus who dove down often to check the herd. Satisfied things were in order, Bluegill turned away; he still needed to check in on the manatees he was rehabilitating. As he did, however, he noticed a figure far out to sea. He paused, observing it.

From what he could tell, it was a whale, though he wasn't quite sure what kind. It didn't seem to be coming closer, though. He considered packing the herd in, and driving them up to the stalls, but he didn't want to jump the gun. It was spring, after all, many creatures moved passed his ranch on migration. He shrugged and moved to head for the manatee's bay.

He hadn't gotten far, when he heard his stallion bellow. Bluegill whirled around, alarmed, and saw the equine beasts racing for the shore. Surging towards the reef was a killer whale, his teeth bared. Bluegill shouted, alarmed, and sped towards them to intercept. He pulled his pistol from its holster and fired. A bright, white ball of energy burst from the muzzle, whizzing through the water before it struck the over-sized dolphin on the side of the head. The orca shrieked, indignant, and whirled around to face the rancher, who cocked the pistol and pointed.

"Don' make me do it, big guy! Get on outta here b'fore ya get a bullet in yer big head!" He shouted, bubbles streaming from his mouth. The orca snarled and charged him, mouth open. Bluegill fired again, right above its snout. It wailed and turned away, swimming away rapidly. Bluegill watched, sighing in relief, before he was barreled into from behind. He whirled, kicking away, and saw a second orca had sneaked up on him. It opened its jaws, ready to devour him, but the cowboy bolted away, swimming furiously.

He screamed in pain as he felt the orca's giant teeth clamp around his left leg. He whirled and fired blindly, rapidly, as he kicked at its snout with his other foot. The orca thrashed its head back and forth, tossing the old blueblood about. Panicked, he fired again, and suddenly felt the teeth release. He backed away quickly, his heart hammering, and saw his lusus, Walrusdad, and charged, his tusks slashing at the whale's hide. The orca bellowed and charged away, tail flicking. Bluegill panted heavily, grabbing his pant's leg and rolling it up. He felt sick just at the sight; his leg had turned into mangled, bloody meat, all the way from his ankle to his knee. His lusus swam close, huffing in concern, before they gently began pushing him back to shore.

Bluegill groaned in pain, but pat the Walrus' head in thanks. He pulled out his palmhusk and dialed Rufuss; he was going to need help getting back to the hive.


	23. Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Makeno. All other characters named here are noncanonical, and names are free to use.

Makeno was furiously dicing vegetables with a precise, steady, practiced hand. Around him, his expert and highly trained staff of cooks moved about, preparing and plating dishes. Ont he other side of the line, waiters chatted amicably while waiting for the last dish of their orders. Out in the dining room, every table was packed full, and the wait time was well into an hour, not to mention the reservation list. Makeno sighed happily, briskly brushing the vegetables off the chopping board and into a nearby pot.

"Coming behind!" His Saucier announced. Makeno straightened up and pressed himself to the counter to let her by. He inhaled deeply, smelling the broth she was carrying.

"Well done, Marana, it smells lovely." He told her.

"Not done yet, chef, I need garlic. WHO HAS THE GARLIC?!" She called to the general attendance as she set the pot on the counter.

"Yo!" Makeno's Rotisseur, Vrasil, waved one in the air before he tossed it. Marana caught it easily and gestured to Makeno's cutting board.

"May I?" He nodded and stepped out of the way.

He made his way around the kitchen, checking in at each station. Vrasil, his meat cook, and Wixxen, his Poissonier, were furiously working to keep up with the orders. Makeno sent a pair of Relief cooks to help with the load, before checking in on his pasta chef, Armayl, who was vigorously plating dishes. Makeno paused and read the orders she was dealing with, before he began helping. In the corner, by the toaster oven, a radio was playing some upbeat, pop station, and Makeno found his hips swaying as he poured sauce over the noodles.

"Keep your brain on _this_ job, chef." Armayl teased, "Piano comes later."

"Can't help it. When the beat hits, you gotta dance." Makeno returned, sliding the plate towards her so she could lay shrimps over it.

"You're gonna get a meat clever in your ass one day if you keep dancing around here." She chuckled, shaking her head.

"Don't jinx me, I've got a streak going." Makeno told her, before he moved away.

He moved to the second kitchen, where the slower or more simple dishes were being made. His pastry chef, Gralst, called a cheery greeting, the oliveblood's apron streaked with batter and icing. Several blenders and electric mixers buzzed behind him. The pantry chef, Fraise, was happily tearing lettuce apart for salads. The short chef, Zofrik, was carefully layering avocado on a kid's sandwich. Masvon, his grill master, and Poaris, his fry cook, worked in tandem at their stations.

Makeno crossed his arms, observing them all. As it did most nights, pride burned in his chest. He'd put the Siren's Rock together from the ground up. Every single one of his chefs were highly talented lowbloods that had been passed over for a higher blooded chef at one place or another, and he'd collected them, offering them a place with him. He even put some of them through culinary classes; they'd had the passion, but not the skill, so he made sure they were refined before they came to work. Now he had a finely tuned staff that, thankfully, all got along. Many nights they hung out at the restaurant's bar after closing, chatting. None of them were higher than jade, he himself being the only highblood on staff. After they closed, any dishes that was left over was packaged and left waiting in the kitchen's back room, where the staff took turns handing it out to lowbloods and mutants who needed the free meal.

He moved back into the main kitchen to resume his job, to help with the dinner rush, when the sounds of shouting and a loud crash came through the doors. Latria, one of the waitresses, burst into the kitchens, looking panicked.

"Makeno?! We've got a situation!" She cried. Makeno vaulted over the prep-station and hurried out the doors to see a pair of highbloods- a purple and blue- brawling in the middle of the dining room. Several patrons fled to the walls, or simply ran right out of the restaurant, terrified. Trajix, the bartender, ushered a jadeblood and group of wrigglers behind the bar to hide.

"HEY!" Makeno bellowed, running in between the fighting pair and pushing them apart. A fuchsiablooded patron stepped forward to help, grabbing the blueblood and keeping him back, while Makeno raising his hands to halt the purple. "What the hell is going on?!" Makeno demanded. The purpleblood growled, glaring at the blueblood, before he focused on Makeno.

"You the owner of this shithole?" He spat. Several of the watching staff gasped; they knew how much the restaurant meant to the violetblood.

"Owner? We aren't even dating yet, that's moving a little fast." Makeno replied coolly, making several customers stifle giggles. The purpleblood grunted angrily, his lip twitching.

"Look, you cocky fuck! That fucking poptart blooded bitch-"

"Sir, there are wrigglers. If you're going to use that language, may I politely ask you-" Makeno began, when the purpleblood's fist collided with his jaw. Makeno was sent flying into a nearby table, falling over the dishes and toppling onto the other side.

"Makeno!" A pair of waiters rushed to him as he picked himself up from the floor. He hissed in pain, rolling over onto his back. A butcher knife, still coated in the blood of someone's steak, was sliced into his stomach like it would be cut into a cake. Violet blood beaded up around it and spilled down his stomach.

"Oh fuck-" One of them reached to grab the knife but he grabbed their wrist.

"Don't. Just- call an ambulance. And the cops." He said through clenched teeth.

"But-"

"If you take it out, I'm just going to bleed faster. Leave it." he dug in his pocket and thrust his palmhusk at one of them, before he forced himself to stand up. Clutching his gut, he glared at the purpleblood, who suddenly looked nervous. He looked ready to run, but Vrasil and Wixxen came up and blocked his way, while the blue was still being held by the fuchsia. Makeno nodded to his hostess. "Bounce everyone's bills for tonight, I'll take it out of my salary." He grunted. She nodded. Makeno leaned on the table, feeling dizzy. "Sorry, folks, that your evening was disrupted. Please clear out, we need to clean up." He added to the remaining patrons.

Whispering and murmuring, the crowd slowly left, until it was just Makeno, his staff, and the blue, purple, and fuchsia bloods. Makeno sighed, relieved, as he heard sirens approaching, before he blacked out.


	24. Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Musrio.

"Please. Please, I need your help. I'll do anything." A young Musrio, only seven sweeps old*, was knelt in front of an altar, his body limp and blood pumping sluggishly from his wrists. While his body was unconscious, his mind was far, far away.

It wasn’t a pretty job to get to... wherever he was. He felt like he was suffocating, like there were hands around his throat that were squeezing, squeezing, squeezing- bright bursts of light popped behind his eyes, like stars or fireworks. When he woke, everything was pain. He couldn’t see anything but darkness. He couldn’t hear anything, the silence more deafening than a bullet train blaring by. It was terrifying, being void of sensation. He couldn’t even tell if he moved an arm or leg. All there was was pain and... nothingness.

“**Why have you sought us, in such desperate measures? A mere worm's concern is not for us to trifle with, so why do you dig into our side like a thorn?**” A voice spoke from the darkness. Although it whispered, it nearly burst his eardrums. It was like a million voices, every voice that ever uttered a sound since the dawn of time, spoke in unison. They folded over each other, the sound rolling like the waves of an ocean as it needled into his ears and threatened to rip his sanity like paper. He moved his mouth, trying to speak, but nothing came out. Did he even have a mouth?

"I need your help." he thought instead. "I... I fucked up. I fucked up bad." Tears- what felt like tears- rose in his eyes.

"**And to what concern is that of ours?**"

"I want to make a deal."

"**We do not deal with mortal worms**."

"Then make me immortal if that's what it'll take for you to listen, dammit! I don't care, I want your power!"

".**.. Our power?**" He felt something shift in the air- water? space?- around him, and he got the sense he'd caught their attention.

"Yes. Give me power over life and death, over the dead and living, over elements and nature."

"**What do you offer in return?**"

"My body. My soul. My place in the afterlife. Use me as a vessel. And when I die, you get the rest of me."

"**.... Interesting. And you do this for the one that tore you apart. You would break yourself, burst from your old flesh like a cocoon, and become an entity that not even the simulacrum of mentality can rival, for the one that would never do the same for you?**"

"Yes."

"**Why**?"

"What do you care for the whys?"

"**We know and see all, but the minds of mortals are a buzzing chaos that we cannot touch without great distress to the host and to our wavering being. We know what will happen, but we do not know what meager thought will spark the tar that bubbles over your fates, scorching your presence from our conscious and from the clustering lights you cling to as signs of hope**."

"You sure talk a lot, with a bunch of fancy words. Doesn't that get boring?"

"**It is the way we are. We are everything and nothing, both at once and not at all. We are the minds of the dark remnants, the reaching, grasping claws of burned out stars, the hunger of black holes, and the singularity of being. Our belly is the night sky upon your homeworld, but we cannot be touched by your ships. We are the thing that first crawled from the primordial ooze, and the last to ever leave, for we are still emerging. We are your cosmos and your universe, your very reality and fragility of mental capacity. We are the symphony that plays upon the arrival of meager gods, and the choir that sings them back to oblivion.**"

"I would _love_ to have a psychology major try and break that all down, just to tell you you have daddy issues, but my body is kind of bleeding out back on Alternia. So do we have a deal or not?"

"**You amuse us, Musrio Almawt. We have a deal. Your soul and flesh, for our power. But you have not answered our question.**" To hear his name uttered by the being was indescribable feeling; like a thousand fingers touched every inch of his nervous system, all at once. Like a weight was thrust into his gut, bursting him open from the inside until he was nothing but a mist of remains and blood. Like he simultaneously died in every way, both conceivable and not, only to be wrenched back into his skin by a pair of giant claws.

"... Because I love him."

"**...**"

"Yeah, I know, I can feel you judging me. I know it's just chemicals in the brain or whatever, but not all of us are elder beings of mass chaos that have no feelings. Just- give me your power already so I can stop my flesh from dying."

Pain, more agonizing than a gunshot, more than a bath in acid, suddenly shot through his body from the top of his head down to his toes. He felt his body- was it his body? Maybe it was his brain- contort, and then it felt like he had no body at all.

He looked down at his hands; they were black. Stars swirled in his palms. Whole galaxies danced and spun on his body. He breathed, just to see if he could. When he exhaled, stars spun from his breath and swirled around him. The stars and planets and everything on his skin seemed to slide off like water, joining the swirls around him. He could no longer tell between his body and the darkness of space. The universe around him spun faster and faster until it was a blaze of white that hurt his eyes, but he couldn't close them.

“Stop that!” He commanded in his head. The stars stilled, resuming their gentle spins. He reached out and touched one. It was warm, like cupping a mug of coffee. Everything inside him and around him felt… Right. He felt powerful, yet content and sleepy. His mind was filled with every whispered secret the universe held, yet it was beautifully blank as showers of stars raced behind his eyes. A clarity he could never achieve in his own skin had filled him.

"**This is our gift to you. You have been washed in our blood, and so you become of us. Waste this gift not, for you are the harbinger of a story that must be told, and never forgotten.**"

"I'm what?"

"**Goodbye, Musrio Almawt**."

He was suddenly hurled through space and time, stretched and compressed, twisted and smoothed back into his skin, until he sat up with a cry. He looked around. He was back in his basement, in front of the altar. The scars on his wrists were gone, but he could still see the one on his nose. As his heart remembered how to beat again, he rose to his feet, and realized he was wearing new clothes. A set of black and white robes, with his sign emblazoned on the belly and a purple sash. His amulet dangled proudly in front of his chest. The eyes glowed white- something they'd never done before- before the light faded.

He turned and walked back upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *he's 15 in human years


	25. Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Corden

It was the annual check up day. Corden stood in line with the other goldbloods, waiting for his turn to be examined. If he was sick, or his eyesight was flacking, or it possible he was going to break in the near future, they'd scrap him. He swallowed, taking a steadying breath. An overseer prowled up and down the line, his barbed whip coiling around his gloved hand like a cobra. Corden stoically avoided eye contact, staring at the back of the head in front of him. Slowly, the line shuffled forward.

The goldblooded slaves would enter, be examined by a troll who would give them a physical. They would then be sent to one of three options: Back to the holding block, to another room for further examination, or to what the goldbloods referred to as 'the incinerator'. If they went to the holding block, it meant they were fine, capable of continuing work. If they went for further examination, it meant something needed a closer look at, which at that point meant they were most likely going to the incinerator. The incinerator itself was where the goldbloods who were broken were culled. No one was certain if it was _actually_ an incinerator, and the golds were actually burned alive, but none of the overseers bothered to correct them.

Finally, after nearly two hours of standing in line, Corden was next. When the door opened, he obediently marched inside. However, unlike with the other golds, an overseer followed him. The golds still waiting shared concerned glances; that couldn't be good.

The room was blindingly white and sterile. A tealblood in a lab coat stood next to an examination table, with an array of tools behind her on a table. She held a clipboard in one hand, and a handheld medicalizer stuck out of her pocket. On the opposite wall, were a pair of doors.

"Corden Blalit. Get on the table." she said, before glancing up. She blinked, surprised to see the overseer. "Is there a problem?"

"Not quite. This one is to be exempt of the mental exam, is all." The overseer explained, patting Corden's shoulder. The tealblood peered at him curiously. Corden tried to steady and slow his breathing so it didn't look like his belly and chest were moving.

"Why is that, if I may ask?" the teal asked. Corden read her nameplate, which announced her name as 'Dr. Yayven'.

"He's a little screwed up in there, but he's one of our most efficient Hackeroders.* You just need to test his physicality." The overseer said shortly. Dr. Yayven put a hand on her hip.

"How exactly is he screwed up? If he is mentally broken, then I cannot confirm he will be able to work-"

"Main computer chip working at highest capacity. No bugs detected. Coding is not corrupted." Corden said without prompting. The overseer only nodded.

"That. He's convinced himself he's a robot. If anything, it makes him work better." They said. Dr. Yayven looked a little thrown for a moment. She hesitated, then nodded.

"Very well. Leave it to me." She assured the overseer, who turned away and walked back out. The doctor nodded to the table. "On the table, Blalit." Corden obediently turned and climbed on the table, then sat with his hands in his lap, staring at the wall across from him. She paced around him, peering at him, but he didn't look at her. "A robot, huh?" She muttered, shaking her head. She turned away to grab a tool, before she paused and turned back. "Blalit, run a self scan." She ordered. Corden closed his eyes for a moment, before he opened them.

"All external limbs functional and processing. Inner workings non-corroded and working. Fuel is low, but work will not be hindered until next fill up. Fans unclogged and running. Main A.I is working at highest capacity. Ocular lobes have no need of correctional lensing or adjustments. Coding is not corrupted. No bugs detected." He hummed. Her eyes widened, both impressed and slightly concerned.

"... Run external scan." She suggested. He paused, before he nodded once.

"Shelling is corrupted. Requesting assistance."

"Show me where." She ordered. He reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off and twisting around for her to see.

His back was absolutely shredded. It was more scar tissue than skin. Scars, both old and new, crisscrossed his back like a giant feline had used him as a scratching post. It went all the way down to the small of his back, up to his shoulders, and over his upper arms. Dr. Yayven gazed at it for a long moment.

"Anywhere else?" She asked as he turned back around.

"Negative."

She nodded, sighing, and pulled out her medicalizer. She rolled it over in her hands and turned it on. It hummed, and she approached. The tip suddenly opened into four, thin, and narrow prongs; needles. Without warning, she plunged them into his skin, below his shoulder blades. He jumped, but didn't make a sound. Something- some kind of fluid- was injected, and she pulled it out. The needles disappeared, before four more popped back out, and she plunged them in lower on his back. He whimpered, this time, but didn't move. More fluid was injected, and she finally moved away. As she watched, the worst of the scars began to patch themselves up. The eight needle holes sealed back over.

Corden shuddered; his back felt like it was crawling. His skin itched and pinched, tingled and twitched, before it finally settled.

"There. Shelling is corrected. Put your shirt back on." the doctor ordered. He did so, turning back around. She pointed to the two doors, at the right one. "Go through there, it'll lead you back to the holding block." She said shortly. He nodded.

As he silently made his way through the hall, he was slightly disappointed he didn't got to the incinerator; because that only meant he had to continue suffering. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hackeroders: a team of goldbloods meant of creating and programming war machines and weapons. responsible for coding and monitoring the inner workings of spacial ships, drones, and other such empirical equipment. (Hacker + Coder)


	26. Insects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Decaying

Much like how his descendant consumed poisons and fungi for a buzz, Decaying was no stranger to elicit substances. He enjoyed many kinds of drugs, from grubweed to stardust. While he used to more mild ones to silence his mind when he needed rest, the more extreme ones were used for a variety of reasons, most importantly that it was fun. He was by no means an addict; he could go days, even weeks at a time without using them. Currently, he had just inhaled several lines of the pale blue and green stardust, and settled back on his couch to let his mind go.

He felt his conscious rocket away to dance among lights and static, and he waved it goodbye. As silence fell in his head, he closed his eyes. His TV was on, but he didn't know what was playing. It was just colors and shapes and noise. When he opened his eyes again, the lights bled off the screen and swirled around him. He reached out and touched them, letting them dance through his fingers. A rough purr rumbled to life in his throat and he giggled as the shapes tumbled around.

He gasped and jolted up as he suddenly felt a pinch on his back. He whirled around, but saw nothing. He shook his head and settled back down, before it happened again. He hissed, annoyed, and stood up. He examined the couch, but saw nothing that indicated what was pinching him. He moved about his small cabin, humming. Rain pattered against the window and he stopped to watch it. He nodded to the beat, feeling energy thrum through his head. As he turned to walk to the other window, another pinch in his back made him shout. The noise turned red in the air, before it blinked out. He ripped his shirt off and twisted to look, running his hands awkwardly over his back.

He yelped as he found a lump, about the size of his fist, over his kidney. He groped it; it had no give, and was rather solid. As he poked it, he felt another pinch in the same place. He nearly barfed as he felt _something squirm_ in it. He ran to the bathroom and fumbled for the light, turning to look at the lump in the mirror. It was twitching under his skin as he watched. He watched in horror as another squelched to life on his shoulder, his spine, and behind his rib cage.

Panicked, he ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. As he did, he felt more swell up; over his arms, on his legs, even his chest and stomach. Screaming now, he raised the knife and sliced open one of the lumps on his forearm. There was a spray of puss, blood,and fluid, before a large, black, shiny object fell out onto the counter. Decaying watched, his heart pounding, as it squirmed. It burst open, revealing numerous legs and pincers. It hissed and he screamed again, feeling the rest of them scrabble around inside his skin. He slashed at every lump desperately, before he fainted from blood loss.

When he woke, the bugs were gone. The lights and shapes had stopped. He slowly sat up, whimpering as he felt each bloody scar twinge. He pushed himself to his feet, his hands trembling. It was just a bad trip, he thought, swallowing. His throat was painfully dry. As he stumbled to the cabinet, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a black, shiny shell scurry behind his fridge with a hiss.


	27. Unexplained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Bluegill

Bluegill was out in one of the above-water pastures, wandering between the giant, sleeping seals that had crawled up to sunbathe. It was a foggy, pleasant, autumn night, the sun preparing to rise. The two moons were slowly sinking into the sea. Bluegill's spurs jingled faintly as he wandered, and none of his charges seemed disturbed.

The seals were getting big, he thought with pride. They weren't his, of course; they were wild animals that had learned his ranch was a safe place to rest, and that he was no threat. He recognized a few; back from last sweep, some with pups and some with new scars. One or two even had a tag on their flipper, with Bluegill's sign displayed on it; meaning he had cared for and rehabilitated that specific creature before. They remembered him, raising their heads to nuzzle his palm as he passed by, before happily flopping back on the dirt. As he passed a few, he pat their jiggling tummies or rubbed their heads. One barked, alarmed by his touch, but one of the tagged ones barked back and they settled down again.

As he reached the end of the field, where a tall, long, fence ran across, he paused and gazed at the trees beyond. The fog moved between them slowly, luxuriously. It was still and quiet; peaceful and perfect for the seals, but Bluegill was uneasy. He'd learned to listen to the world; when it went silent, it meant something big, scary, or dangerous was on the prowl. Not even a cricket chirped in the reeds. The only sound was the wind and the snuffles of lazy seals. Bluegill waited, hoping to see whatever it was. He considered going back to the hive to get his shotgun, just in case, but something in the wind told him it wasn't worth it.

As he finally began to turn away, he saw it; a flash of motion between the trees. It was only there for a second, but he'd seen enough. Shivers going up and down his spine, he quickly moved away from the fence. Like rewinding a tape, the image replayed in his head, slowed down:

A trolloid figure, on all fours, darting through the trees. It appeared to naked and hornless, with thin limbs that were much too long and a bulbous head. It didn't look at him, but he knew it knew he was there.

Bluegill hadn't even gotten halfway across the field when an almighty _scream_ ripped through the air. The seals instantly jumped, barking in alarm, and turned to flee into the water. In the chaos, Bluegill hounded for his hive, terrified. He made it to his porch in record time and slammed the door, locking it behind him. He leaned against it, panting and shuddering. He knew what that creature was now, without a doubt.

He reached up and removed his hat from around his horn and turned to peer out the window. There was nothing out there, out of the ordinary. Taking a deep breath, he felt his heart slowly calm down. As he wandered to his bedroom, he felt a little better. Just to be safe, he made sure his shotgun was loaded and ready, sitting by his bedroom door. Lil Lady, his basset hound, was sprawled on his bed, snoring away. He sat down and took his boots off, before he went to shower.

When he came back, he found Lil Lady was gone, but heard her claws clicking on the wooden floor in the living room. He got his long johns on and went to feed her, assuming she was headed for her bowl. However, as he entered the living room, he saw her by the doorway, standing stock still.

"Lady?" He asked, puzzled. She jumped, turning and woofing in greeting, before she wandered towards the kitchen. A little unnerved, he fed her, before he went to bed. As he laid in bed- he preferred over a coon- he couldn't sleep. When it finally came to him, it was uneasy and unpleasant. He leaped up with a cry when he heard Lady barking. He grabbed his gun and ran to the living room, and saw her whimpering at the door. Nervous, he approached and peered out the window.

The sun was beginning to set, throwing long shadows over the pastures. He looked down at the porch and gasped. A seal pup, one of the ones he'd seen the night before, laid on his doormat. Dead. It was ripped to bloody pieces, blood trailing up the steps and all over the porch. Within the blood, Bluegill saw footprints; they looked like a troll's, but the toes were much too long and the feet unnaturally narrow.

He glanced up at the pastures and saw it; the creature, peering over the crest of the hill. It seemed to wait, to make sure Bluegill had seen it, before it fled. Bluegill shuddered.

"Skinwalker." He muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I saw new eyes were watching me. ... I found something in the woods somewhere." -In the Woods Somewhere, by Hozier.


	28. Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Ruthless

They met in the hospital. Ruthless had been wounded when, in a thunderstorm, the mast of his ship was stuck by lightning. It collapsed, and he'd rushed to rescue a crewmate from being killed. In his hasty, although valiant act, the mast clipped him in the side. It broke several ribs, and his wrist. When the storm passed, his crew rushed him to land to be seen to. The physician on staff had only managed to bind the wounds, but being at sea meant a greater risk of infection and the bones not healing properly. Ruthless was unconscious through the entire ride, and only began to stir when he was in the hospital bed. His eyes fluttered open as she entered the room.

She was a jadeblooded nurse at the hospital. She was downright, gorgeous; Ruthless was sure he was in the presence of a siren. She made any troll pause and turn their heads to watch her pass. Her eyes dazzled with cunning, her irises popping like firecrackers from the makeup she wore. Her hair was long, silky, and had a slight waviness as it cascaded down her back, stopping at her hips. Her horns curled back, framing the sides of her head, and jutted out in front of her jaw, like a ram's. Bright vitaligo spots raced up and down her arms like the spots of a cheetah. She wore a black scrub with a floral pattern, and a pair of grey cotton pants. She looked exhausted, and done with everyone's bullshit.

Ruthless was in love the moment he saw her. From the top of her head to the bottom of her boots; he had to know her, to touch her. He wanted to hear her laugh and see her smile. He wanted to know everything about her, right then and there. He read her nameplate: "Lucina :)" it said in a cursive, curly handwriting, smiley face and all. She didn't look at him, walking over to his monitor and examining it. He had to say something!

“Hey, Lucy.” He rasped; his throat was dry, his words barely a croak. She gave him a look that could scorch the air, her eyes narrowing in disdain.

“Lucina.” she corrected shortly.

“I can’t call you Lucy?” He asked.

“Not unless you take me to dinner.” She snorted, walking around the bed to adjust his IV.

“Deal.” He smiled. She was taken aback by his boldness, but the look he gave her was so open and honest, that she giggled.

…

When he was released from the hospital, and he was assured his ship was being repaired, he came back for her. He picked her up after work and took her to the nicest restaurant around. They talked, they ate, and they went through a few bottles of wine. He was smitten, hanging onto her every word like a lifeline. She found the attention charming, and by the end of the night, was smitten with him, too. He walked her to her hive and shyly asked if they could meet again. She agreed.

On their second date, he sailed her out to sea on his ship, The Warshark. They shared a picnic on its deck, under the stars. He stole a kiss on her cheek, and she playfully tossed a piece of bread in his face. He confessed then and there, in his soft, yet rough, voice.

“Hey, Lucy?”

“Hey, [redacted]?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I want you to be my matesprit.”

“What if I don’t want to be yours?”

“Then I will throw myself into the sea.” He said seriously.

“Then, I don’t want to be your mate.” She sniffed.

He smiled softly, rose to his feet, and walked to the edge of the deck. He turned to make sure she was watching, then leaped into the sea. Shocked, she ran to the edge of the ship. He reemerged from the water after several minutes, his fins fluttering. He rolled onto his back and swam in lazy circles, looking up at her.

“You threw yourself into the sea. Now what?” She called.

“If you won’t be my mate, I will summon a beast to eat me!” He cried back.

“Then I won’t be your mate!”

He nodded once, sitting up, and slapped the surface of the water. Something _BIG _rose from below him; a dark shadow that rapidly grew into the maw of 60 meter-long megalodon. It opened its jaws and closed them around the seadweller, then sank back into the water. Lucina leaned on the side of the deck and waited, her cheek in her hand.

Ruthless came back an hour later.

“You’ve thrown yourself into the sea, and you’ve been eaten by a beast. Now what?” She asked.

“What more can I do, to prove I love you?” He exclaimed. She smiled softly.

“Kiss me.” She whispered.

He eagerly swam for the side of the ship and scaled the side. Soaking wet, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with such a passion, he felt like he'd burn alive if he didn't pull away. But she clung to his jacket, making him stay.

When they finally separated, she promised to be his.

…

She joined him at sea; though she wasn't a soldier, not even his higher-ups dared protest to her presence. They were together for sweeps upon sweeps, caught in a fiery passion for one another. He taught her to sword fight, and how to use a gun. Soon, she could take on even the burliest of the crew mates. She, in turn, taught him a tenderness and kindness he'd never known. He learned to appreciate life for more than the thrill of battle. They spent their nights sailing together, and their days in the recoopercoon, locked in each other’s arms.

Any time they docked, he took her somewhere. A festival, a restaurant, a gala; they'd dance in a whirl of laughter, their eyes only for each other as they clutched one another close. Every time they were on land, he bought her a gift. A necklace, a rose, a sword; she only need glance at it once and he got it for her. He presented each to her when they were at sea once more, on one knee. When she took it, he'd rise to his feet and kiss her, hard enough to make her swoon.

He’d chase her through the halls of the ship, like a pair of excited wrigglers. They'd barrel crew mates out of the way in pursuit. When he caught her, he’d pin her to the wall and kiss her like it would save his life. She clung to him like she'd drown if she let go. When they pailed, they took their time. It was tender and loving and achingly sweet, leaving them both sleepy and content. When they were going to bed, he’d hold her close. She’d pet his battle scars as he kissed her hair, both of them half a sleep as they whispered:

“Hey, Lucy?”

“Hey, [redacted]?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

…

And like all stories, their’s was not without tragedy. Ruthless still had to do his job, after all; he patrolled the seas for miscreants, pirates, and rebels. This sometimes lead to fights, if not all out battles. Ruthless had yet to lose. In a battle with rebels at sea, Ruthless and Lucina stood back to back, fighting off rebels who’d stormed the ship. When there were only a few left, is when it happened.

One of them got lucky. There was a bang of a rifle, and bright green blood bloomed from Lucina’s chest.

The world suddenly stopped. Ruthless felt his mate go slack against his back. He turned to see the blood. He screamed.

She collapsed and he caught her, dropping to his knees. His crew, thinking him fallen, rushed to his defense. The rebels died around him as he clutched his mate.

She was breathing, but it was labored, gurgling. Her face was pale, so pale. She was already almost gone. With shaking fingers, she touched his face.

“Hey, Ruthless…” she whispered. He swallowed, tears dripping from his face.

“Hey, Lucy.” He whispered.

“I love you.”

“I- I love you, t- too.” She smiled, leaning up just enough for her lips to touch his. Then she was gone, falling back into his arms. He didn’t bother trying to shake her. She was gone. He threw back his head and screamed.

…

When they reached the shore, he took her to be buried at his hive. While he mostly lived on his ship, he had a small place where he kept his most precious belongings. He buried her in the garden, and single-handedly built a small temple to her.

He cried on the stone nearly ever night. He replaced the flowers with new ones every week. He was a shell of a man without her. He drank to try and feel something, but it only got worse. Many nights he was seen wandering the shore, screaming at the stars to bring her back.

One night, he collapsed on the sand. He prayed he’d never get up, before he blacked out. When he woke again, he was in a cave. He opened his eyes to see a yellowblood with robotic limbs and a greenblood with a mask, watching him.

He stared at the green mask for the longest time. His eyes swam with tears as he remembered her eyes.

“Hey, Lucy…” He whispered, before he passed out again.

When he woke once more, there was food waiting for him. The lowbloods were still there. When he managed to sit up, they quietly introduced themselves. They were called Incoding and Innocent.

For the longest time, he didn’t speak. They didn’t push him to. They quietly tended to him without complaint. It felt nice to be cared for, even if it hurt a little. After nearly a pedigree, he finally told them his name. They shared their story with him, and offered him a place among them. He agreed. What else could he do? He had nothing and no one he wanted to return to.

…

When he died, he couldn’t find her in the bubbles. He ran for eternity, crying for her, but she wasn’t there. And his heart broke all over again.

When he returned to life, he woke up by her temple, now crumbled ruins. And it broke for a third time. He sobbed against the rubble, too weak and unwilling to carry on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey Lucy, I remember your name  
I left a dozen roses on your grave today  
I'm in the grass on my knees, wipe the leaves away  
I just came to talk for a while  
I got some things I need to say  
Now that it's over  
I just wanna hold her  
I'd give up all the world to see  
That little piece of heaven looking back at me" - Lucy, by Skillet. (Ruthless' song)


	29. Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Innocent

Dear [redacted],

I miss you terribly. I had hoped I would be able to return to you soon, but it seems that is no longer possible. I have been driven to the far north in my attempt to outrun my pursuers. On my journey, I found another troll; another, on the run, like me. He calls himself Incoding, and has no true name. He chose to join me on my escape, as he is escaping from bad people, too. He and I have gotten rather close these last few weeks. Trying to speak to him is not easy, though. He is very timid and reclusive. Any sudden movement or sound makes him flinch, so I have learned to keep my thoughts to myself. Not that I speak much as it is, but still.

The poor man is missing several limbs, but he has quite the proclivity for mechanics. He _built_ replacements, which is truly impressive. It is a wonder to watch him work. We have currently holed ourselves up in a cave, in an attempt to wait out a blizzard that has blown through. It gives us a chance to rest, and the thick snow will cover our tracks, so we are grateful. As I write this, I sit against the stony wall, next to a firepit. He sits across from me, tinkering with part of his robotic limb. Oop, he caught me watching. Something about him is very alluring. When he does speak, I cannot help but to listen.

But enough about me. How goes your own travels? I cannot understand your desire to live on the move. I am nomadic, but not by choice. You are not "illegal". You have the opportunity to settle down. You could open up a place for your practice. But, well, I suppose I cannot judge. You feel the call in the wind, just as I do at times. We cannot deny who we are. I can only hope our paths will cross again.

Yours, Innocent.

\---

Dear [redacted],

It has been too long since I wrote. It is hard to sneak into a city to find a mail box. On top of that, you have no address, so it is not easy to find you. Have you considered investing in carrier birds? They're a bit pricey, but it would be beneficial for you, I think.

But how are you? I have been rather well, myself, considering. I have met another troll who has joined Incoding and I on our journey. He says his name is Ruthless. It is not his real name, obviously, but he says it is too personal to say. Surprisingly, he is a violet seadweller! I would not think I would ever see the day I allied myself with a highblood, but he... oh, gods, [redacted], he is so pity-able; the non-romantic kind. It is not my place to speak of his story, but it is a tragic one. He was broken and lost, and nearly dead when Incoding and I found him. Incoding wanted to leave him but you know me. I could not. It has been a few weeks since then, and Ruthless has joined our little brigade.

Speaking of Incoding, he and I are morails. We found ourselves quite pale for one another, and agreed to be with one another. Although... I somewhat feel pale for our seadweller friend, too. I wonder if the two of them would object to a polygamous quadrant? I have never considered myself poly- I never thought I would have quadrant mates to begin with- but I am not opposed to it.

Besides that, having Ruthless at our side is very beneficial. I am too scared to go into cities, and Incoding is a wanted man. (Long story). Ruthless, however, can stroll in and pick up supplies for us. We have been living like Robbin Hhoodd and his merry men, from the old stories. Not wealthy, but comfortable. As comfortable as one can be.

It is amazing, the things you can miss once you've experienced them. We managed to sleep in an Inn for a night, a week or so ago. I long to crawl under those crisp sheets again. And bathing! Oh, a blessing from the stars, that is. I manage to clean up whenever we rest near a body of water, but it is not as often as I would like. Incoding jests that I have fleas. At this point, I would not be surprised. It is not only the comforts of life that I miss, but there are places I wish to return to. To you, of course, but I have seen wonders that other trolls may never see, or appreciate.

I have seen the northern lights, dancing over a frozen lake. I have watched a fawn prance in a sunlit clearing. Observed a butterfly emerge from a cocoon. Wonders that happen every day, but no one stops to watch. Have you seen these yourself? Where we are is quite magical in itself. We are in what Ruthless said is called a 'stone forest'. The trees have turned into statues. Something inside them glows, too. the light bleeds out through the cracks. I feel like a woodland guardian watches us as we sit here, by our fire. Ruthless is snoring, and Incoding has climbed up one of the trees(?) to observe the stars. I can see eyes in the shadows, but they do not approach our flame.

Alas, I have rambled for too long. I shall end this here.

Yours, Innocent.

\---

Dear [redacted]

... I do not know why I am writing this. Word of your... your passing, has reached me, even though we are so far away. I am so sorry I was not there. The man you met, is the same that pursues us. I just. I wish I had gotten to say goodbye. I pray it was a swift end.

... I am sorry. I cannot think of the words to say. I grieve for you. May we meet again, wherever we end up. Ah, it seems I am crying. Haha, that has no happened in a while.

Oh, Ruthless saw. I have assured him I am fine. He is sitting against my back now. He is a rather physically affectionate man. Oh, yes, I never told you; he is my morail now, along with Incoding. The three of us get along quite well. Incoding is quiet, Ruthless is loud, and I... well, I suppose I am quiet, too. We express ourselves in our own ways, I suppose. Ruthless likes to touch. A hand hold, a hug, a snuggle- he wiggles his fins if you pet his hair. It is quite adorable. Incoding does not like touch as much; he will accept it if offered, but he prefers to just be near one another. Like a cat. Sometimes he will sit next to me and start talking. I never know for certain if he is speaking to me, the air, or just speaking to make noise, but it is nice all the same. He will talk about anything that comes to mind.

As for myself, I am the gift giver of the group. I like to make the meals, and give them things I think they will like. Nothing that will weigh us down, but little things; a shiny pebble, a carved figure, a picture.

... I suppose I am just distracting myself with all of this. I still cannot get over your... departure. Your lusus was the one who told me. He came so far, with your final letter. I begged him to stay, but he left. I suppose he has gone to find another charge. I usually burn your letters, so as not to leave a trail, but I cannot part with this one. It sits in my bag, tucked at the bottom. Did you know I still wear the mask you gave me? I barely take it off now. I... I miss you, [redacted]. More than I could ever say. I do not want to stop writing, but the fire is dying and it is getting hard to see.

Yours, [redacted].

\---

Dear [redacted],

This may be my final letter to you. I did not mail the last one- no point- but I am used to writing when the night grows still. It has been... many months now since you left this world. I miss you with each day. The other two grieve with me. We have all lost someone dear to us. Such is life, is it not? I lost you, Cody lost an old morail, and Ru lost his mate. We all hurt, but we push on. We must, or we will die.

As I write this, we are camped in a large forest. It reminds me of home. I can even hear wolves in the distance, but I doubt they will disturb us. Ruthless and Incoding are across from me, finishing their meals. I could not stomach much tonight. They are mad at me, but I cannot help it. Sorrow fills the belly more than food, as the old saying goes.

I can hear movement in the trees. I think that wolf pack came to check us out, after all. I may speak to them if they get any closer. It would be nice to practice their tongue again. I miss my family dearly. I hope they are well. The last winter was not kind to us, so I cannot imagine how it fared for them.

I suppose I should stop writing now. There is no point, after all. I cannot stop my hand, though. Do you ever feel if you sit still, the world will suddenly... break? That is how it feels now. But, the others are insisting I rest. We have taken to moving in the dawn and dusk; less of a chance of being seen. I do not have long to relax before we have to get moving again.

The wolves have gotten closer. I think I will say hello before turning in. Goodnight, [redacted], wherever you are. I miss you.

Yours-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those weren't wolves


	30. Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I kind of already did this with ruthless, BUUUT i'm doing it again with Musrio. Like, a written lyricstuck? With his theme song, of course.

_I'm so tired of being here_   
_Suppressed by all my childish fears_

Musrio looked around the hive. It felt so... empty now, so cold. It had been a long time since he'd returned here. But he needed to gather his things- and do away with theirs- before he could leave. Everything was dusty, and in the exact same way it had been when he ran away. The coffee table was collapsed, still. The couch tipped over backwards. The knife... oh gods, the knife. It laid where he'd dropped it, their blood dried on the blade. He forced himself to turn away, swallowing, and quickly went to his old bedroom.

He began packing his things; his blankets, his pillows, his old clothes, his movies and books- thump! one of them fell off the shelf when he bumped it. He stooped and picked it up; it was a photo album. The other books tumbled to the floor and he sat down, staring at the cover. It was the two of them, laughing at the camera. Back before it all happened. Musrio smiled sadly, running his fingers over the photo, before he opened the book.

_And if you have to leave_   
_I wish that you would just leave_   
_'Cause your presence still lingers here_   
_And it won't leave me alone_

**The two of them at a water park, dressed in ridiculously flashy swim trunks. Musrio was running through the shallows as they snapped a picture.**

**Then, Musrio held the camera as the went down a slide, shrieking in fear. The picture was blurry; Musrio remembered being unable to hold the camera still because he was laughing so hard.**

**Then, the two of them at some club, taking a selfie with six other trolls Musrio didn't remember.**

**The pair of them in matching sweaters, curled up next to the fireplace. There was snow on the window, and they each clutched a cup of hot chocolate.**

**Them, their mouth open wide as they screamed at a concert, the band on stage in the background.**

**Musrio, staring at a computer screen with a wickedpidia page pulled up about mushrooms, his head in his hand and several old coffee mugs around him.**

The actual Musrio paused; he knew what the next photos held, and he didn't want to look. Still, he forced himself to turn the page.

_When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears_   
_When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears_   
_And I held your hand through all of these years_   
_But you still have all of me_

**The pair of them, laying in a hospital bed. They ** **had a respiratory mask on, but was smiling. Musrio was kissing their cheek as he snapped the photo.**

**Them, dressed in a hospital gown, sitting up in the hospital bed, watching TV. **This was after their fourth surgery, Musrio recalled.

**A sneaky selfie of Musrio, laid against them as they slept on his shoulder; still in the hospital.**

**Finally, a photo of them, back at home, but they still wore the mask. They looked gaunt, weak, and tired, but they smiled at the camera as they sorted their Fidus Spawn cards.**

Then several photos neither of them took, but had professionally done.

_You used to captivate me by your resonating light_   
_Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind_   
_Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams_   
_Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me_

**Them, down on one knee, offering a ring to Musrio. Musrio himself was crying, the camera having perfectly captured the look of awe and shock on his face. Their respiratory mask was down around their neck, so the camera captured their beaming smile.**

**A photo of their hands, showing off the rings.**

**A photo of their throats, showing off the amulets.**

**The two of them in front of the hive Musrio now sat in, brand new and recently bought. Their air tank sat next to their leg like a dog.**

_These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real_   
_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

Musrio reached up and rubbed his nose, having been tickled by the dust in the air. As his fingers grazed his scar, his movements faltered. He paused, feeling his throat tighten. He took a deep breath and kept going, reaching up and rubbing the amulet around his neck.

_When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears_   
_When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears_   
_And I held your hand through all of these years_   
_But you still have all of me_

The photos became few and far between, then. The dates were spaced out a lot more than the previous ones.

**There was a picture of them, back in the hospital.**

**A picture of their blood work results. Terminal, it said.**

**The pair of them holding each other in the hospital bed. Even though they were smiling, there was a deep fear, and sadness, behind their eyes.**

**A photo of their shoulder, showing off their new tattoo, the skin around it still dark and irritated. Behind them, several figures stood, but only their torsos could be seen.**

**The two of them, at a park. Musrio had his face turned away from the camera. He'd had a big bruise on his cheek that day, he remembered.**

**Them, hanging out with several other trolls, who all had matching tattoos. Musrio had snapped the photo. They were facing away from the camera, the top of their air tank poking out of their backpack they used to carry it around.**

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone_   
_But though you're still with me, I've been alone all along_

A dark red tear suddenly dropped onto the page. Musrio sniffled, surprised, and realized he was crying. He reached up, wiping his face on his robe's sleeve. He hiccuped, fighting back the sob that clogged his throat. He gave in, burying his face in his hands and sobbing. He cried, hard, for what felt like forever.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck-" he hissed, biting his bottom lip. He took several deep breaths, fighting to calm down. With shaking hands, he turned to the last page.

_When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears_   
_When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears_   
_And I held your hand through all of these years_   
_You still have all of me, me, me_

**A photo of their tomb. On the door, their amulet, embedded in the stone. Their name was inscribed below it, and their sign below that.**

While trolls didn't bury their dead, Musrio felt like he had to, to convince himself they were gone. Their tomb was tucked away, in a place only Musrio knew. Except he didn't, he'd made himself forget so he wouldn't be tempted to return. Now, he forced himself to shut the book. Without looking at it again, he threw it in the box. Tears still tracking down his face, he kept working.


	31. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Incoding, Innocent, Ruthless, Decaying, Bluegill, Hounding, Corden, Musrio, Makeno, Gehero, Vornik, and Rufuss. To wrap up the spooky season, I'm finishing these off with something lighthearted and non-gorey. Enjoy some wholesome bois.

Innocent surveyed the room, his hands on his hips. He was quite pleased with how the hive looked now. The outside was appropriately spooky, without being terrifying. Several bowls of candy sat waiting for trick-or-treating wrigglers. While on the inside, he'd spent all day scrubbing it spotless and rearranging furniture. He and his morails were throwing an All Hallows Eve party for their friends and descendants, and the limeblood couldn't be more excited. There was food- he'd slaved over the stove all damn day to make various casseroles, and a homemade, seven layered dip. There were bowls of candies, chips, cookies, and more. Drinks, from ice water to vodka sat out, waiting, with stacks of plastic cups. The furniture was rearranged to give the room more space, and a playlist of "spooky" themed songs played on the television.

"I still think this is ridiculous." Incoding said as he came down the stairs. The goldblood was in a costume, dressed as a vampire. Ruthless followed him, dressed like a merman. They paused and looked around, impressed. "You did great, though." Incoding added begrudgingly.

"It is our first major celebration since returning. I want it to be special." Innocent reminded him. Incoding rolled his organic eye, amused. Ruthless adjusted the partial-skirt he wore, which looked like a tail.

"Yer turn ta get dressed, In." He told the limeblood. Innocent nodded and hurried upstairs. Meanwhile, Incoding poured himself a soda, before the doorbell rang. The violet and gold glanced at one another, before Ruthless went to answer. He opened it to see his and Incoding's descendants, Makeno and Corden, standing on the doorstep. Makeno was dressed as a pirate, while Corden looked like a Fidus Spawn trainer. Makeno carried a tray of homemade cookies.

"Happy Halloween!" Corden shouted when the door opened, practically vibrating with excitement. Ruthless couldn't stop his smile; he liked Corden, the little goldblood reminded him of Incoding when they were younger. His own descendant, however...

"Happy Halloween, you drunk fuck." Makeno growled. Ruthless flared his fins, and Makeno returned the gesture.

"You too, ye little bastard." Ruthless snarled. Corden's smile faltered, before the tension broke and the seadwellers grinned. Ruthless stood aside and waved them in. "Come on in, then. Yer the first ta show." He told them as they ducked inside.

"Incoding!" Corden hurried to his ancestor, who set down his soda just in time, before he was barreled into. Incoding snorted, amused, and hugged his mini me.

"Nice to see you, too, Corden." He buzzed, before the two of them clacked horns. Makeno set his tray on the counter, looking around.

"Nice hive." He said to Incoding, who thanked him.

"Who's here?" Innocent called as he came down the stairs. He was dressed as a ninja; it was the only costume he could think of that would let him wear a half-mask.

"Our brats." Ruthless told him. Innocent gave him a look, but there was a knock before he could get onto him. The limeblood eagerly went to answer the door, and found Decaying on the doorstep, dressed as a zombie. He grinned at Innocent.

"Hello, wolf." He hummed.

"Welcome, Brigan. Come in." Innocent offered. The rustblood stepped inside, looking around.

"Dee?" Incoding moved away from his descendant and embraced his old friend.

"Greetings, Incoding, and..." He trailed off, blinking at Corden, who'd approached. "Little Incoding?" Decaying asked. He looked at the actual Incoding. "Has there always been two of you?"

"No, Dee. This is Corden, my descendant. That's Makeno, Ruthless' kid." Incoding explained, gesturing to the young seadweller as he poured himself a drink. Makeno walked up and introduced himself. As the four chatted, there was another knock. Innocent, who hadn't moved from the door, opened it again. He beamed under his mask as he saw his own descendant, Vornik- who was carrying a bag of caramel candies, standing with Musrio.

"Hello, Vornik. Musrio." Innocent nodded to them, "Did you come together?"

"Coincidence. We showed up at the same time. I'm not staying long, I have a busy night. Ribbit." Musrio sniffed. He was only in his robes- costumeless- but Vornik was dressed as a werewolf.

"Hi, Innocent." Vornik rumbled, grinning. Musrio brushed past as Innocent dropped to one knee and exchanged a hug with his descendant. When they broke apart, Innocent lead him inside. "I brought you these." Vornik added to Innocent, handing him the sweets, before he scampered off to say hi to everyone else. Innocent took them, touched that Vornik had remembered his favorite sweet.

Incoding, Ruthless, and Decaying were sitting on the couch, chatting. Incoding had a cookie in one hand and he used it to gesture animatedly. Makeno was dancing by himself, next to the TV. Corden and Vornik were talking, while Musrio stood to the side, rubbing his amulet with his thumb. He and Decaying hadn't even greeted one another, from what Innocent could tell.

Innocent put the candies in the cupboard; he'd enjoy them later. He went towards Makeno, who was swaying in circles, his fingers dancing in the air like he was playing piano keys. He looked up as the older limeblood approached.

"Heya. You're Nicky's ancestor, right?" The seadweller asked, pausing his spinning; he didn't stop swaying, though.

"I am. You are Ruthless' little one." Innocent nodded.

"What gave it away, the horns or the fins?" Makeno joked. Innocent chuckled.

"You are a musician, are you not? A pianist?" Innocent asked. Makeno shrugged, his fins flickering as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, it's more of a side job, really. I'm actually a chef." He explained. At Innocent's interested look, he continued, "I'm the head chef at my restaurant, the Siren's Rock. It's a little too classy than I meant it to be, but," He shrugged, grinning, "You make good shit, you get good money."

"What a humble observation." Corden said as he walked up, bumping Makeno with his shoulder. Innocent looked between the two of them, amused.

"You two are morails?" He asked. They nodded.

"You, Incoding, and Ruthless are all together, aren't you? Like a poly thing?" Makeno clarified.

"We are. The other two are more than delighted to know you two are together." Innocent explained. Makeno grinned, wrapping an arm around Corden's shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I just can't seem to get rid of him." He joked. Corden growled playfully.

"What about Vornik? He is not in your pale?" Innocent asked. Makeno shook his head.

"He's a cool guy, but he lives quite a bit away from us. Also, he's... he's like a bark-beast in a troll's skin." Corden explained. Innocent looked over at Vornik, who, as he watched, opened a giant soda bottle and began to chug it.

"Well, he is certainly odd, but I cannot fault him. It is not like his existence- or mine- is exactly welcomed. He has made peace with who he is, running around with beasts and being himself. It is the most he can do." Innocent mused.

"Don't misunderstand us," Makeno assured him, "I'd take a bullet for him, he's just never shown interest in joining us. From what he's said, he's not so fortunate in the quadrant department." Corden nodded in agreement.

"He-" He broke off as the doorbell rang.

"Ah, excuse me." Innocent nodded, before he hurried to answer the door. There stood Rufuss and Bluegill. Rufuss carried a dish of BBQ ribs, and was dressed as a wizard; pointy hat and all. Bluegill was dressed like a heavy metal rockstar, with a leather jacket, spikes, and even face paint. One of his own guitars was strapped to his back.

"Oh, hey, this is th' right place!" Bluegill grunted when the door opened, "Howdy, Innocent."

"Welcome! Come on in!" Innocent said brightly.

"Howdy, Mr. Gorsin." Rufuss nodded as he ducked inside after his ancestor. Innocent shut the door behind them, following after.

"I did not think you two would make it." Innocent said.

"Shoot, I wasn' gonna miss this fer the world. You're most kind ta invite us." Rufuss told him as he set down the ribs. Bluegill nodded in agreement, grabbing a beer bottle. Vornik, who stood nearby, chugging the last of the soda bottle, perked up at the smell of the ribs. He set the empty bottle down and stared, shivering with excitement. Rufuss glanced at him, then the food. "Don't gotta be shy, partner. Take all ya want." he offered, before he went to greet everyone else.

Bluegill was nodding along to the music, his scruffy beard bouncing against his chest. He followed Innocent away from the food and lightly touched his arm.

"Thank ya fer invitin' us." He said quietly, "Rufuss was drivin' me bonkers." Innocent frowned.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, concerned.

"Not exactly. The kid is just... oh lordy, he's a lot ta keep up wit'. Up wit' th' moon, an' doesn' rest 'till the sun is comin' up. Doesn't give himself a pause ta breathe, workin' himself ta the bone fer the ranch. Won' even let me help, says I'm just supposed ta relax an' enjoy my old age wit' my bark-beasts. Don' get me wrong, I don' mind that, but I'm a workin' man, too. I don' like sittin' still. Boy is drivin' me 'naners, insisting that he does everythin' fer me." Bluegill vented. Innocent chuckled, laying a hand on the elder's shoulder. Quietly, he used part of his power to make the blueblood relax. The burly seadweller sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"Well, hopefully he can relax tonight, and tomorrow you could discuss this with him." Innocent suggested. Bluegill nodded, twisting the top of his beer off.

"Yeah... mighty kind o' ya ta listen." Bluegill sighed. Innocent gestured to Makeno, who was chatting with Rufuss.

"How about you chat with Makeno? He is a musician himself, he might enjoy listening to a story or two." Innocent suggested. Brightening, the heavy-set troll wandered off. Innocent paused to observe the rest of the gathering:

Decaying had wandered over to the food and made himself a plate. Corden was showing Incoding something on his palmhusk. Vornik had BBQ sauce on his face as he scarfed down a plateful of ribs. Ruthless had gotten up and was chatting with Bluegill and Makeno. Rufuss and Musrio were quietly exchanging words by the stairs.

Before Innocent could decide who to join, another knock came at the door. It was soft; he almost missed it. He turned and opened the door, and found Gehero standing on the doorstep, his head bowed. A basket of fresh muffins and various tea boxes was clasped nervously in front of him. He was dressed in a kimono with various adorable meow-beasts printed across it. A pair of white meow-beast ears sat on top of his head, his hair pulled back in a pony tail, and a matching tail curled from a slit in the back. From what Innocent could see, the purpleblood had whiskers and a nose painted on his face.

"I... I wasn't sure if I was invited, but... I thought I would stop by and bring you these." He said quietly, holding out the basket. Inside the hive, the conversations ceased. "They- they're pumpkin spice and apple cider teas, and cinnamon and almond muffins. Innocent looked the purpleblood over, who tried to shrink away from his gaze.

"Come in, Gehero. You are welcome here." Innocent said softly. The samurai looked up, surprised.

"I am?" He asked uncertainly.

"Yes, of course. Please, come in." Innocent insisted, opening the door wider. Gehero hesitated, before he ducked inside with a quiet 'thank you'.

Conversation resumed as Innocent showed him to the kitchen so he could put the basket down.

"Gehero!" Rufuss boomed, jogging over and enveloping the purple in a hug. "Howdy, fella! How's yer lil critters? How's that garden of yers? It's been forever since I seen ya, how're ya doin'?" He said enthusiastically. He took Gehero by the arm and lead him away. He glanced over his shoulder at Innocent and winked. 'I got him', he mouthed. Innocent placed his fingertips on his chin, then extended his hand out and downward, palm up, signing 'thank you'.

Rufuss lead Gehero over to Vornik, and the three of them began chatting. Makeno was crossing the living room with two drinks; he passed one to Corden as he sat next to him, as the two of them listened to Bluegill ramble on. Decaying was speaking quietly to Musrio, while Incoding and Ruthless danced.

Musrio suddenly broke away and walked over to Innocent.

"Thank you for hosting me, but I must go. I have things I need to tend to." He said, still fidgeting with his amulet. Innocent nodded.

"Of course. Happy Hallows Eve, Musrio. I wish you luck." he told him. Musrio's lip twitched in the faintest smile.

"Thank you. You, too." He said, before he ducked out the door. "Oh." Innocent heard him say before he shut the door. The limeblood paused, opening it back up, and saw Musrio stood over, picking something up. He turned around, holding it out. "This was left on your step. Ribbit."

He was holding out a skull; a troll's skull, the horns broken off and filed down. It was polished, and beautifully painted into a sugar skull. Below on of the eyes, was the Urfath sign. Innocent smiled slightly, taking it and thanking the rustblood. He carried it inside as he shut the door, and set it on a shelf.

"N! Come dance!" Ruthless called, distracting the limeblood. Innocent chuckled, and hurried to join him. As he walked over, he pulled out his palmhusk and sent a quick message.

"... Thank you, Arrach..."


End file.
